


The Darkest Night

by jeewillies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Louis, Demons, Experienced Harry, Fantasy, Fluff, Greek gods, Harry might be experienced with sex, Immortal Harry, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Pandora's Box, Paranormal, Smut, Titans, Top Harry, Virgin Louis, Younger Louis, but he's really inexperienced with people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeewillies/pseuds/jeewillies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All his life, Louis Tomlinson has been tormented by voices from the past. To end the nightmare, he has come to Budapest seeking help from men rumored to have supernatural abilities, not knowing he'll be swept into the arms of Harry, their most dangerous member - a man trapped in a hell of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Darkest Night](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/167725) by Gena Showalter. 



> All content belongs to Gena Showalter.

Every night death came, slowly, painfully, and every morning Harry awoke in bed, knowing he'd have to die again later. That was his greatest curse and his eternal punishment.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing it were a blade over his enemy's throat instead. Most of the day had already passed. He'd heard the time seep away, a poisonous tick-tock in his mind, every beat of the clock a mocking reminder of mortality and pain.

In little more than an hour, the first sting would pierce his stomach and nothing he did, nothing he said, would change that. Death would come for him.

"Damned gods," he muttered, increasing the speed of his bench presses.

"Bastards, every one of them," a familiar male voice said from behind him.

Harry's motions didn't slow at Nick's unwelcome intrusion. Up. Down. Up. Down. For two hours he had worked out his frustration and anger on the punching bag, the treadmill and now the weights. Sweat ran from his bare chest and arms, riding the ropes of his muscles in clear rivulets. He should be as exhausted mentally as he was physically, but his emotions were only growing darker, more powerful.

"You should not be here," he said.

Nick sighed. "Look. I didn't mean to interrupt, but something's happened."

"So take care of it."

"I can't."

"Whatever it is, try. I'm in no shape to help." These last few weeks very little was needed to send him into a killing haze where no one around him was safe. Even his friends. Especially his friends. He didn't want to, never meant to, but was sometimes helpless against urges to strike and to maim.

"Harry - "

"I'm at the edge, Nick," he croaked. "I would do more harm than good."

Harry knew his limitations, had known them for thousands of years. Ever since that doomed day the gods had chosen another to perform a task that should have been his.

Pandora had been strong, yes, the strongest female soldier of their time. But he had been stronger. More capable. Yet he had been deemed too weak to guard dimOuniak, a sacred box housing demons so vile, so destructive, they could not even be trusted in Hell.

As if Harry would have allowed it to be destroyed. Frustration had bloomed inside him at the affront. Inside all of them, every warrior now living here. They had fought diligently for the king of the gods, killed expertly and protected thoroughly; they should have been chosen as guards. That they hadn't was an embarrassment not to be tolerated.

They'd only thought to teach the gods a lesson the night they'd stolen dimOuniak from Pandora and released that horde of demons upon the unsuspecting world. How foolish they had been. Their plan to prove their power had failed, for the box had gone missing in the fray, leaving the warriors unable to recapture a single evil spirit.

Destruction and havoc had soon reigned, plunging the world into darkness until the king of the gods finally intervened, cursing each warrior to house a demon inside himself.

A fitting punishment. The warriors had unleashed the evil to avenge their stinging pride; now they would contain it.

And so the Lords of the Underworld were born.

Harry had been given Violence, the demon who was now as much a part of him as his lungs or his heart. Now, man could no longer live without demon and demon could no longer function without man. They were woven together, two halves of a whole.

From the very first, the creature inside him had beckoned him to do malicious things, hated things, and he'd been compelled to obey. Even when led to slay a woman - to slay Pandora. His fingers clenched the bar so tightly his knuckles nearly snapped out of place. Over the years he had learned to control some of the demon's more vile compulsions, but it was a constant struggle and he knew he could shatter at any moment.

What he would have given for a single day of calm. No overpowering desire to hurt others. No battles within himself. No worries. No death. Just... peace.

"It's not safe for you here," he told his friend, who still stood in the doorway. "You need to leave." He set the silver bar atop its perch and sat up. "Only Liam and Zayn are allowed to be close to me during my demise." And only because they played a part in it, unwilling though they were. They were as helpless against their demons as Harry was his.

"About an hour until that happens, so..." Nick threw a rag at him. "I'll take my chances."

Harry reached behind his back, caught the white cloth and turned. He wiped his face. "Water."

An ice-cold bottle was soaring through the air before the second syllable left his mouth. He caught it deftly, moisture splashing his chest. He drained the icy contents and studied his friend.

As usual, Nick wore all black and gloves covered his hands. Dark hair stood high in a quiff, framing a face mortal females and males alike considered a sensual feast. They didn't know the man was actually a devil in angel's skin. They should have, though. He practically glowed with irreverence, and there was an unholy gleam in his brown eyes that proclaimed he would laugh in your face while cutting out your heart. Or laugh in your face while you cut out his heart.

To survive, he had to find humor where he could. They all did.

Like every resident of this Budapest fortress, Nick was damned. He might not die every night like Harry, but he could never touch a living thing, skin to skin, without infecting it with sickness.

Nick was possessed by the spirit of Disease.

He hadn't known a man's touch in over four hundred years. He'd learned his lesson well when he'd given in to lust and caressed a would-be lover's face, bringing about a plague that decimated village after village. Human after human.

"Five minutes of your time," Nick said, his determination clear. "That's all I'm asking."

"Think we'll be punished for insulting the gods today?" Harry replied, ignoring the request. If he didn't allow himself to be asked for a favor, he didn't have to feel guilty for turning it down.

His friend uttered another of those sighs. "Our every breath is supposed to be a punishment."

True. Harry's lips curled into a slow, razored smile as he peered ceilingward. Bastards. Punish me further, I dare you. Maybe then, finally, he would fade to nothingness.

He doubted the gods would concern themselves, though. After bestowing the death-curse upon him, they had ignored him, pretending not to hear his pleas for forgiveness and absolution. Pretending not to hear his promises and desperate bargaining.

What more could they do to him, anyway?

Nothing could be worse than dying over and over again. Or being stripped of anything good and right...or hosting the spirit of Violence inside his mind and body.

Jackknifing to his feet, Harry tossed the now-wet rag and empty water bottle into the nearest hamper. He strode to the far end of the room and braced his hands above his head, leaning into the semicircular alcove of stained-glass windows and staring into the night through the only clear partition.

He saw Paradise.

He saw hell.

He saw freedom, prison, everything and nothing.

He saw... home.

Situated atop a towering hill as the fortress was, he had a direct view of the city. Lights glowed brightly, pinks, blues and purples illuminating the murky velvet sky, glinting off the Danube River and framing the snowcapped trees that dominated the area. Wind blustered, snowflakes dancing and twirling through the air.

Here, he and the others had a modicum of privacy from the rest of the world. Here, they were allowed to come and go without having to face a barrage of questions. Why don't you age? Why do screams echo through the forest every night? Why do you sometimes look like a monster?

Here, the locals maintained their distance, awed, respectful. "Angels," he'd even heard whispered during a rare encounter with a mortal.

If they only knew.

Harry's nails elongated slightly, digging into the stone. Budapest was a place of majestic beauty, old-world charm and modern pleasures, but he'd always felt removed from it. From the castle district that lined one street to the nightclubs that lined the next. From the fruits and vegetables hawked in one alley to the living flesh hawked in the other.

Maybe that sense of disconnection would vanish if he ever explored the city, but unlike the others, who roamed at will, he was trapped inside the fortress and surrounding land as surely as Violence had been trapped inside Pandora's box thousands of years ago.

His nails lengthened farther, almost claws now. Thinking of the box always blackened his mood. _Punch a wall,_ Violence beckoned. _Destroy something. Hurt, kill._ He would have liked to obliterate the gods. One by one. Decapitate them, perhaps. Rip out their blackened, decayed hearts, definitely.

The demon purred in approval.

Of course it's purring now, Harry thought with disgust. Anything bloodthirsty, no matter the victims, met with the creature's support. Scowling, he leveled another heated glance at the heavens. He and the demon had been paired long ago, but he remembered the day clearly. The screams of the innocent in his ears, humans bleeding all around him, hurting, dying, the spirits having devoured their flesh in a rapturous frenzy.

Only when Violence had been shoved inside his body did he lose touch with reality. There had been no sounds, no sights. Just an all-consuming darkness. He hadn't regained his senses until Pandora's blood splattered his chest, her last breath echoing in his ears.

She had not been his first kill - or his last - but she had been the first and only woman to meet his sword. The horror of seeing that once-vibrant female form broken and knowing he was responsible for it... To this day, he had not assuaged the guilt, the regret. The shame and the sorrow.

He'd sworn to do whatever was necessary to control the spirit from then on, but it had been too late. Enraged all the more, Zeus had bestowed a second curse upon him: every night at midnight he would die exactly as Pandora had died - a blade through the stomach, six hellish times. The only difference was, her torment had ended within minutes.

His torment would last for eternity.

He popped his jaw, trying to relax against a new onslaught of aggression. It wasn't as if he were the only one to suffer, he reminded himself. The other warriors had their own demons - literally and figuratively. Nick, of course, was keeper of Disease. Liam was keeper of Death. Zayn, of Pain. Josh, of Wrath. Niall, of Promiscuity.

Why couldn't he have been given that last one? He would have been able to journey to town anytime he wished, take anyone he desired, savoring every sound, every touch. For Niall, on the other hand, it was a sick joke to force upon the most innocent of all the warriors a demon so repulsive.

As it was, Harry could never venture far. Nor could he trust himself around mortals for long periods of time. If the demon overtook him or if he could not return home before midnight and someone found his dead, bloody body and buried him - or worse, burned him...

How he wished such a thing would end his miserable existence. He would have left long ago and allowed himself to be roasted in a pit. Or perhaps he would have jumped from the fortress's highest window and smashed his brains from his skull. But no. No matter what he did, he'd merely awaken once again, charred as well as sore. Broken as well as sliced.

"You've been staring at that window for a while," Nick said. "Aren't you even curious as to what's happened?"

Harry blinked as he was dragged from his thoughts. "You're still here?"

His friend arched a dark brow, the color a startling contrast to his silver-white complexion. "I believe the answer to my question is no. Are you calm now, at least?"

Was he ever truly calm? "As calm as a creature like me can be."

"Stop whining. There's something I need to show you, and don't try to deny me this time. We can talk about my reason for disturbing you along the way." Without another word, Nick spun on his booted heel and strode from the room.

Harry remained in place for several seconds, watching his friend disappear around the corner. Stop whining, Nick had said. Yes, that's exactly what he had been doing. Curiosity and wry amusement pushed past his lethal mood, and Harry stepped from the gym into the hallway. A cold draft of air swirled around him, thick with moisture and the crisp scents of winter. He spied Nick a few feet away and stalked forward, quickly closing in.

"What's this about?"

"Finally. Interest," was the only response.

"If this is one of your tricks..." Like the time Nick had ordered hundreds of blow-up dolls and placed them throughout the fortress, all because Niall had foolishly complained about the lack of female companionship in town. The plastic "ladies" had stared out from every corner, their wide eyes and let-me-suck-you mouths taunting everyone who passed them.

Things like that happened when Nick was bored.

"I wouldn't waste my time trying to trick you," Nick said without turning to face him. "You, my friend, have no sense of humor."

True.

As Harry kept pace, stone walls stretched at his sides; sconces glowed, pulsing with light and fire, twining shadow with gold. The House of the Damned, as Nick had dubbed the place, had been built hundreds of years ago. Though they had modernized it as best they could, the age showed in the crumbling rock and the scuffed floors.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked, only then realizing he hadn't spotted any of the others.

"You'd think Niall would be shopping for food since our cabinets are nearly bare and that's his only duty, but no, he's out searching for the only thing he cares about more than his next meal, his next shag."

Lucky bastard. Possessed as he was by Promiscuity, Niall could not bed the same person twice, and so he seduced a new one - or two or three - every day. The only downside? If he couldn't find a willing human, he was reduced to doing things Harry didn't even want to contemplate. Things that left the normally good-tempered man hunched over a toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach as he sobbed with guilt and self-disgust at what the demon had forced him to do. Though Harry's envy abated at such moments, it always twitched back to life when Niall spoke of one of his lovers. The soft brush of a thigh... the meeting of hot skin... the groans of ecstasy...

"Josh is... Prepare yourself," Nick began, "because this is the main reason I hunted you down."

"Did something happen to him?" Harry demanded as darkness shuttered over his thoughts and anger overtook him. _Destroy, obliterate,_ Violence beseeched, clawing at the corners of his mind. "Is he hurt?"

Immortal Josh might be, but he could still be harmed. Even killed - a feat they had all discovered in the worst possible way.

"Nothing like that," Nick assured him.

Slowly, he relaxed and gradually Violence receded. "What, then? Cleaning a mess and throwing a fit?" Every warrior here had specific responsibilities. It was their way of maintaining some semblance of order amid the chaos of their own souls. Josh's task was maid service, something he complained about on a daily basis. Harry took care of home repairs. Nick played with stocks and bonds, whatever those were, keeping them well-moneyed. Liam did all the paperwork and Zayn supplied them with weapons.

"The gods... summoned him."

Harry stumbled, shock momentarily blinding him. "What?" Surely he had misheard.

"The gods summoned him," Nick repeated patiently.

But the Greeks hadn't spoken to any of them since the day of Pandora's death. "What did they want? And why am I just now hearing about this?"

"One, no one knows. We were watching a movie when suddenly he straightened in his seat, expression dead, as if there were no one home. Then a few seconds later he tells us he's been summoned. None of us even had time to react - one minute Josh was with us, the next he was gone."

"And two," Nick added with barely a pause, "I tried to tell you. You said you didn't care, remember?"

A muscle ticked below his eye. "You should have told me anyway."

"While you had barbells within your reach? Please. I'm Disease, not Stupid."

This was...this was... Harry did not want to contemplate what this was, but could not stop the thoughts from forming. Sometimes Josh, keeper of Wrath, lost total control of his spirit and embarked on a vengeance rampage, punishing mortals for their perceived sins. Was he now to be given a second curse for his actions, as Harry had been all those centuries ago?

"If he does not return in the same shape he left, I will find a way to storm the heavens and slaughter every godly being I encounter."

"Your eyes are glowing bright red," Nick said. "Look, we're all confused, but Josh will return soon and tell us what's going on."

Fair enough. He forced himself to relax. Again. "Was anyone else summoned?"

"No. Liam is out collecting souls. Zayn, is gods-know-where, probably cutting himself."

He should have known. Even though Harry suffered unbearably each night, he pitied Zayn, who could not live a single hour without self-inflicted torture.

"What else did you have to tell me?" Harry brushed his fingertips over the two towering columns that flanked the staircase before beginning to climb.

"I think it will be better if I show you."

Would it be worse than the announcement about Josh? Harry wondered, striding past the entertainment room. Their sanctuary. The chamber they'd spared no expense creating was filled with plush furniture and all the comforts a warrior could desire. There was a refrigerator crammed with special wines and beers. A pool table. A basketball hoop. A large plasma screen that was even now flashing images of three naked women in the middle of an orgy.

"I see Niall was here," he said.

Nick did not reply, but he did quicken his steps, never once glancing toward the screen.

"Never mind," Harry muttered. Directing Nick's attention to anything carnal was unnecessarily cruel. The celibate man had to crave sex - touch - with every fiber of his being, but he would never have the option of indulging.

Even Harry enjoyed a woman or a man upon occasion.

His lovers were usually Niall's leftovers, those mortals foolish enough to try to follow Niall home, hoping to share his bed again, not knowing just how impossible such a thing was. They were always drunk with sexual arousal, a consequence of welcoming Promiscuity, so they rarely cared who finally slid between their legs. Most times, they were all too happy to accept Harry as a substitute - even though it was an impersonal joining, as emotionally hollow as it was physically satisfying.

It had to be that way, though. To protect their secrets, the warriors did not allow humans inside the fortress, forcing Harry to take his partners outside in the surrounding forest. He preferred them on their hands and knees, facing away from him, a swift coupling that would not rouse Violence in any way or compel him to do things that would haunt him forever and still another eternity.

Afterward, Harry would send them home with a warning: never return or die. It was that simple. To allow a more permanent arrangement would be foolish. He might come to care for them, and he would definitely hurt them, which would only heap even more guilt and shame upon him.

Just once, though, he would have liked to linger over a lover as Niall was able to do. He would have liked to kiss and lick their entire body; he would have liked to drown in them, completely losing himself, without fearing his control would snap and cause him to wound them.

Finally reaching Nick's quarters, he blocked those thoughts from his mind. Time spent wishing was time wasted, as he well knew.

He glanced at his surroundings. He'd been in this room before, but he did not remember the wall-to-wall computer system or the numerous monitors, phones and various other pieces of equipment lined throughout. Unlike Nick, Harry eschewed most technology, for he had never quite gotten used to how quickly things seemed to change - and just how much further each new advancement seemed to pull him from the carefree warrior he'd once been. Though he would be lying if he claimed not to enjoy the convenience such gadgets provided.

Survey complete, he faced his friend. "Taking over the world?"

"Nope. Just watching it. It's the best way to protect us, and the best way to make a little coin." Nick plopped into a cushioned swivel chair in front of the largest screen and began typing on the keyboard. One of the blank monitors lit up, the black screen becoming intertwined with grays and whites. "All right. Here's what I wanted you to see."

Careful not to touch his friend, Harry stepped forward. The indistinct blur gradually became thick, opaque lines. Trees, he realized. "Nice, but not something I was in dire need of viewing."

"Patience."

"Hurry," he countered.

Nick flicked him a wry glance. "Since you asked so nicely... I have heat sensors and cameras hidden throughout our land so that I always know when someone trespasses." A few more seconds of tapping and the screen's view shifted to the right. Then there was a swift flash of red, there one moment, gone the next.

"Go back," Harry said, tensing. He wasn't a surveillance expert. No, his skill lay in the actual killing. But even he knew what that red slash represented. Body heat.

Tap, tap, tap and the red slash once again consumed the screen.

"Human?" he asked. The silhouette was small, almost dainty.

"Definitely."

"Male or female?"

Nick shrugged. "Female, maybe, I can’t quite tell. Too big to be a child, but smaller than the average human male."

Hardly anyone ventured up the bleak hill at this time of night. Or even during the day. Whether it was too spooky, too gloomy or a sign of the locals' respect, Harry didn't know. But he could count on one hand the number of deliverymen, children wanting to explore and women prowling for sex who'd braved the journey in the last year.

"One of Niall's lovers?" he asked.

"Possibly. Or..."

"Or?" he prompted when his friend hesitated.

"A Hunter," Nick said grimly. "Bait, more specifically."

Harry pressed his lips together in a harsh line. "Now I know you're teasing me."

"Think about it. Deliverymen always come with boxes and Niall's girls always race straight toward the front door. This one looks empty-handed and they’ve gone in circles, stopping every few minutes and doing something against the trees. Planting dynamite in an attempt to injure us, maybe. Cameras to watch us."

"If they're empty-handed - "

"Dynamite and cameras are small enough to conceal."

He massaged the back of his neck. "Hunters haven't stalked or tormented us since Greece."

"Maybe their children and then their children's children have been searching for us all this time. Maybe they finally found us."

Dread suddenly curled in Harry's stomach. First Josh's shocking summons and now the uninvited visitor. Mere coincidence? His mind flashed back to those dark days in Greece, days of war and savagery, screams and death. Days the warriors had been more demon than man. Days a hunger for destruction had dictated their every action and human bodies had littered the streets.

Hunters had soon risen from the tortured masses, a league of mortal men intent upon destroying those who'd unleashed such evil, and a blood feud had erupted. The battles he then found himself fighting, with swords clanging and fires raging, flesh burning and peace something of lore and legend...

Cunning had been the Hunters' greatest weapon, however. They had trained female, and eventually male as well, Bait to seduce and distract while they swooped in for the kill. That's how they managed to murder Ed, keeper of Distrust. They had not managed to kill the demon itself, however, and it had sprung from the decimated body, crazed, demented, warped from the loss of its host.

Where the demon resided now, Harry didn't know.

"The gods surely hate us," Nick said. "What better way to hurt us than to send Hunters just when we've finally carved out a somewhat peaceful life for ourselves?"

His dread intensified. "They would not wish the demons, crazed as they would surely be without us, loose upon the world. Would they?"

"Who knows why they do any of the things that they do." A statement, with no hint of a question. None of them really understood the gods, even after all these centuries. "We have to do something, Harry."

His gaze flicked to the wall clock and he tensed. "Call Niall."

"Did. He's not answering his cell phone."

"Call - "

"Do you really think I would have disturbed you this close to midnight if there were anyone else?" Nick twisted in the seat, peering up at him with forbidding determination. "You're it."

Harry shook his head. "Very soon, I'm going to die. I cannot be outside these walls."

"Neither can I." Something murky and dangerous shimmered in Nick's eyes, something bitter, turning the brown to a poisonous russet. "You, at least, won't obliterate the entire human race by leaving."

"Nick - "

"You're not going to win this argument, Harry, so stop wasting time."

He tangled a hand through his curly chin-length hair, frustration mounting. _We should leave it out there to die_ , Violence proclaimed. It - the human.

"If it is a Hunter," Nick said, as if hearing his thoughts, "if it is Bait? We can't allow it to live. It must be destroyed."

"And if it's innocent and my death-curse strikes?" Harry countered, tamping down the demon as best he could.

Guilt flashed over Nick's expression, as though every life he was responsible for taking clamored inside his conscience, begging him to rescue those he could. "That is a chance we have to take. We are not the monsters the demons would have us be."

Harry ground his teeth together. He was not a cruel man; he was not a beast. Not heartless. He hated the waves of immorality that constantly threatened to pull him under. Hated what he did, what he was - and what he would become if he ever stopped fighting those black cravings and evil musings.

"Where is the human now?" he asked. He would venture into the night, even if it cost him terribly.

"At the Danube border."

A fifteen-minute run. He had just enough time to weapon up, find the human, usher it to shelter if it was innocent or kill it if circumstances demanded, and return to the fortress. If anything slowed him down, he could die out in the open. Anyone else foolish enough to venture onto the hill would be placed in danger. Because when the first pain hit, he would be reduced to Violence and those black cravings would consume him.

He would have no other purpose but destruction.

"If I don't return by midnight, have one of the others search for my body, as well as Liam's and Zayn's." Both Death and Pain came to him each night at midnight, no matter where Harry was. Pain rendered the blows and Death escorted his soul to hell, where it would remain, tortured by fire and demons almost as loathsome as Violence, until morning.

Unfortunately, Harry could not guarantee his friends' safety out in the open. He might hurt them before they completed their tasks. And if he hurt them, the anguish he would feel would be second only to the agony of the death-curse that visited him every night.

"Promise me," he demanded.

Eyes bleak, Nick nodded. "Be careful, my friend."

He stalked out of the room, his movements rushed. Before he made it halfway down the hall, however, Nick called, "Harry. You might want to look at this."

Backtracking, he experienced another slap of dread. What now? Could anything be worse? When he stood in front of the monitors once more, he arched a brow at Nick, a silent command to hurry.

Nick motioned to the screen with a tilt of his chin. "Looks like there are four more of them. All male... or Amazons. They weren't there earlier."

"Damn this." Harry studied the four new slashes of red, each one bigger than the last. They were closing in on the little one. Yes, things could indeed be worse. "I'll take care of them," he said. "All of them." Once more he leapt into motion, his pace more clipped.

He reached his bedroom and headed straight to the closet, bypassing the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. He'd destroyed his dresser, mirror and chairs in one fit of violence or another.

At one time, he'd been foolish enough to fill the space with tranquil indoor waterfalls, plants, crosses, anything to promote peace and soothe raw nerves. None of it had worked and all had been smashed beyond repair in a matter of minutes as the demon overtook him. Since then he'd opted for what Zayn had called a minimalist look.

The only reason he still had a bed was because it was made of metal and Zayn needed something to chain him to as midnight drew near. They kept an abundant supply of mattresses, sheets, chains and metal headboards in one of the bedrooms next door. Just in case.

 _Hurry!_ Quickly, he jerked a black T-shirt over his head, pulled on a pair of boots and strapped blades to his wrists, waist and ankles. No guns. He and Violence were in agreement about one thing - enemies needed to die up close and personal.

If any of the humans in the forest proved to be Hunters or Bait, nothing could save them now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content belongs to Gena Showalter.

Louis shivered against the frigid wind. Strands of light brown hair whipped in front of his eyes; he hooked them behind his throbbing ears with a shaky hand. Not that he could see much, anyway. The night was black, thick with fog and snowflakes. Only a few golden slivers of moonlight were strong enough to peek through the towering, snowcapped trees.

How could a landscape so beautiful be so damaging to the human body?

He sighed, mist forming in front of his face. He should have been relaxing on a flight back to London, but yesterday he'd learned something too wonderful to resist. Hope had filled him, and earlier this evening he’d raced here without thought, without hesitation, seizing his first chance to find out if it were true.

Somewhere in the vastness of this forest were men with strange abilities no one seemed able to explain. Exactly what they could do, he didn't know. He only knew that he needed help. Desperately. And he’d risk anything, everything, to speak with those powerful men.

He couldn't live with the voices anymore.

Louis had only to stand in one location to hear every conversation that had ever taken place there, no matter how much time had passed. Present, past, any and all languages, it didn't matter. He could hear them in his mind, translate them, even. A gift, some assumed. A nightmare, he knew.

Another chill wind beat against him and he leaned against a tree, using it as a shield. Yesterday, when he’d come to Budapest with several colleagues from the World Institute of Parapsychology, he’d stood in the center of town and begun hearing tidbits of dialogue. Nothing new for him...until he’d deciphered the meaning of the words.

_They can enslave you with a glance._

_One of them has wings and flies when the moon is full._

_The scarred one can disappear at will._

As if those whispers had opened some sort of doorway in his mind, hundreds of years of chatter had slammed into him, a blend of old and new. He’d doubled over from the intensity of it, trying to sort the mundane from the essential.

_They never age._

_They must be angels._

_Even their home is creepy - straight out of a horror movie. Hidden on a hilltop, shadowy corners, and damn, even the birds won't go near it._

_Should we kill them?_

_They're magical. They eased my torment._

So many people, present and past, evidently believed these men operated beyond human ability, that they possessed extraordinary skills. Was it possible the men could help him? “Eased my torment,” someone had said.

"Maybe they can ease mine," Louis muttered now. Over the years and in all corners of the world he’d listened to rumors of vampires, werewolves, goblins and witches, gods and goddesses, demons and angels, monsters and fairies. He’d even led the Institute's researchers to many of those creatures' doorsteps, proving they did, in fact, exist.

The whole purpose of the Institute, after all, was to locate, observe and study paranormal beings and determine how the world could benefit from their existence. And for once, working as a para-audiologist might prove to be his salvation, as well.

Oddly enough, he hadn't led the Institute to Budapest, as was usually the case with a new assignment. He hadn't heard a word about Budapest, in fact, in any of the recent conversations he’d tapped into. But they had brought him here anyway, asking him to listen for any discussions about demons.

He knew better than to ask why. The answer, no matter the question, was always the same: classified.

When he had done as ordered, he’d learned that a few of the locals considered the men living atop this hill to be demons. Evil, wicked. Most, however, considered them angels. Angels who kept to themselves - all but one, that is, who reputedly liked bedding anything breathing and had been dubbed the Orgasm Instructor by a giggling trio who had spent a "single, glorious" night with him. Angels who, through their presence alone, kept the crime levels low. Angels who poured money into the community and made sure the homeless were fed.

Louis himself doubted such do-gooders were possessed. Demons were invariably malicious, unconcerned with those around them. But whether the men were angels living on earth or simply ordinary people capable of doing extraordinary things, he prayed they could help him as no one else had been able to. He prayed they could teach him how to block the voices or even help strip him of his ability completely.

The thought was intoxicating, and his lips lifted in a slow smile. That smile quickly faded, however, as another blast of wind cut through his jacket and sweater and seeped into his skin. He’d been out here for more than an hour, and he was chilled to the bone. Stopping to rest (again) hadn't been the smartest of plans.

His gaze climbed the hill. Through a break in the clouds, a sudden ray of amber light poured down and illuminated the massive charcoal-colored castle. Mist curled from the bottom, beckoning him with ghostly fingers. The place looked exactly as the voice had said, he mused, shadowed and spiked along the top, a horror movie come to life.

That didn't deter him. Quite the opposite. _I'm almost there,_ he thought happily, once again trudging uphill. His thighs already burned from dodging limbs and jumping over elevated roots, but he didn't care. He kept moving.

Until, ten minutes later, he found himself stopping for the thousandth time, unable to walk another step as his shaky, tired thighs morphed into blocks of ice. "No," he moaned. Not now. Rubbing his legs to warm them, he studied the distance again. His eyes widened when he realized that the castle didn't appear any closer. In fact, it might have been farther away.

Louis shook his head in astonished despair. Damn it! What did he have to do to reach the place? Sprout wings and fly?

_Even if I fail, I don't regret coming here._ The no provisions and no planning part, yeah, he regretted that, but he’d had to try. No matter how foolish, he’d simply had to try. He would have made the journey naked and barefoot if necessary. Anything for a chance at normalcy.

He loved that he helped safeguard the world with his “gift,” but the torment he endured was too much. Surely there was another way for him to help. With a little silence, he might be able to think of how. Deep-breathing exercises and meditation only did so much for his peace of mind.

He rubbed his legs more frantically, the ministrations finally melting some of the internal ice and spurring him back into motion. _Itt vannak. Tudom, vannak._ , he heard as he stepped past a hunched, gnarled tree. They're here, his mind instantly translated, I know they are.

Then someone else said, _Aren't you a pretty little thing?_

"Yes, I am, thank you," Louis said, hoping the sound of his own voice would overshadow the others. It didn't. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

As he continued to slog forward, different conversations from different time periods drifted into his awareness, stacking one on top of the others in his mind. Most were spoken in Hungarian, some in English, and that made them all the more jumbled.

_Yes. Yes! Touch me. There, yes, there._

_Kardom? Nem tudom, hol van._

_One more taste of his lips, and I'll forget him, I just need one more taste._

Louis stumbled over twigs and rocks, the words blending together, growing louder. Louder still. His heart drummed in his chest and he barely refrained from screaming in frustration. Deep breath in, deep breath -

_If you knock on the door, you'll be fucked like an animal and I guarantee you'll love every minute of it._

He covered his ears, even though he knew that wouldn't work, either. "Keep going. Find them." More wind. More voices. "Keep going," he repeated, the words chiming in harmony with his footsteps. He’d come all this way; he could make it a little farther. "Find them."

When he’d told Dr. Cowell, vice president of the Institute as well as his boss and mentor, what he’d learned about the men, he'd given Louis a brief nod and a brisk "Well done" - his highest form of praise.

Then Louis had asked to be taken to the chateau atop this imposing hill.

"Not a chance," Cowell had said, turning away from him. "They could be the demons some of the locals paint them."

"Or they could very well be the angels most of the locals consider them."

"You're not going to risk it, Tomlinson." That's when he'd ordered him to pack his bags and readied a car for his departure to the airport, just as he always did when Louis’s part of the job - providing the ears - was done.

It was "standard agency procedure," he always claimed, yet he never sent the rest of the workers home. Just him. Cowell cared about him and wanted him safe, he knew that. After all, he'd seen to his care for more than twelve years, taking him under his wing when he’d been a scared child whose parents hadn't known how to ease their "gifted" son's torment. He'd even read him fairy tales to teach him that the world was a place of magic and endless possibilities, a place where nobody - not even someone like him - had to feel odd.

While he did care, he also knew his ability was important to his career, that the Institute would not be half as effective without him and that as a result, he was something of a pawn in his mentor’s eyes. That's why he didn't feel (too) guilty for sneaking here the moment Cowell’s back was turned.

Fingers numb, Louis once again smoothed his hair from his face. Maybe he should have taken the time to ask the locals for the best route, but the voices had been too loud, too incapacitating in the heart of the city. More than that, he’d been afraid an Institute employee would see him and take him in.

Might have been worth taking his chances, though, to avoid this debilitating cold.

_There's only one way to learn the truth. Stab one in the heart and see if he dies,_ a voice said, snagging his attention.

_Oh, that feels good. Please, more!_

Distracted, Louis tripped over a fallen limb. Down he tumbled, landing with a pained gasp. Sharp rocks abraded his palms and scratched at his jeans. For a long while, he didn't move. Couldn't. Too cold, he thought. Too loud.

As he lay there, his strength seemed to drain completely. His temples throbbed, the voices still bombarding him. Closing his eyes, he pulled the lapels of his jacket tight and managed to crawl to and huddle against the base of a tree.

_We shouldn't be here. They see everything._

_Are you hurt?_

_Look what I found! Isn't it pretty?_

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he shouted. Of course, the voices didn't listen to him. They never did.

_Dare you to run through the trees naked._

_Itt vagyok. Kaphatok valamit enni?_

A pop and whiz suddenly sounded, and Louis’ eyelids sprang open. Next there was a tortured scream. A man's scream, quickly followed by three others.

Present. Not past. After twenty years, he knew the difference.

Terror snaked him in an iron grip, squeezing the breath out of him. Even through the chattering of voices, he heard a sickening thud. He tried to stand, to run, but a sudden whoosh of air held him in place. No, not air, he realized a second later, but a blade. His entire body jerked in surprise as the hilt of a blood-coated knife swayed just above his shoulder, embedded in tree bark.

Before he had time to scramble away, to scream, there was another whoosh. Another jerk. Louis's attention swung to the others side. Sure enough, a second blade was rooted just above his left shoulder.

How - What - The thoughts hadn't yet fully formed when something burst from a nearby thicket. Brittle leaves clashed together in an ominous dance, the snow that had covered them sprinkling to the ground as limbs slapped and shook. Then the something raced past a ray of moonlight and he caught a glimpse of dark hair and radiant emerald eyes. A man. A big, muscled man was charging toward him at top speed. His expression was pure brutality.

"Oh my god," he gasped out. "Stop. Stop!"

Suddenly he was there, right in his face. Crouching, pinning him in place, sniffing his neck. "They were Hunters," he said in lightly accented English, his voice as harsh and rough as his rugged features. "Are you?" He grabbed Louis’s right wrist and peeled back the material of his jacket and sweater. He ran his thumb over the pulse there. "No tattoo, like they had."

They? Hunters? Tattoo? A tremor cartwheeled down his spine. The intruder was huge, hulking, his muscular frame surrounding him with menace. A metallic tang drifted from him, mixed with the fragrance of man and heat and something he couldn't identify.

Up close, he could see the splatter of red on his too-harsh face. Blood? The biting wind seemed to slither past his skin and into the marrow of his bones.

Savage, the look in his emerald eyes said. Predator.

_Maybe I should have listened to Cowell. Maybe the men really are demons._

"Are you one of them?" the man repeated.

Shocked to his core, frightened beyond belief, it took Louis a moment to realize something was...different. The air, the temperature, the -

The voices had stopped.

His eyes widened in astonishment.

The voices had stopped, as if they were actually cognizant of the man's presence and were as afraid of him as he was. Silence enveloped him.

No. It wasn't utter silence he experienced, he decided a moment later, but rather... quiet. Magnificent, blissful quiet. How long since he’d known such a thing, untainted by conversation? Had he ever?

Wind rustled and leaves smacked together. Snow hummed softly as it drifted through the air, a tranquil melody meant to lull and relax. The trees breathed with life and vitality, branches waving gently.

Had anything ever sounded as magnificent as nature's symphony?

In that moment, he forgot his fear. How could this man be possessed by a demon when he came with such lovely quiet? Demons were a source of torment, not peace.

Was he an angel of mercy, then, as the locals assumed?

Closing his eyes in delight, Louis drank in that peace, reveled in it. Embraced it.

"Boy?" the angel said, confusion radiating from his voice.

"Hush." Contentment skipped through him. Even at home in Doncaster, in a house that had been built by construction workers forbidden to speak more than necessary, he always heard the echo of deep-rooted whispers. "Don't speak. Just enjoy."

For a moment, the man didn't reply. "You dare tell me to hush?" he said finally, angry surprise in his tone.

"You're still talking," Louis admonished, then pressed his lips together. Angel or not, he didn't strike him as the kind of person he should scold. Besides, angering him was the last thing he wanted to do. His presence brought silence. And delicious warmth, he realized as the chill rapidly left his body.

Slowly he cracked open his eyelids.

They were nose to nose, his balmy breath trekking over his lips. The man’s skin glowed like smooth alabaster, almost otherworldly in the moonlight. All hard angles and fierce planes, his face boasted a sharp blade of a nose and black-as-the-devil's-heart eyebrows.

Those predatory green eyes bore into him, somehow all the more menacing framed as they were by long, feathered lashes. _I'll kill anyone, anywhere,_ his expression seemed to say.

Demon. No, not a demon, Louis reminded himself. The silence was too good, too pure and right. But he was not an angel, after all, he decided. He'd brought the quiet, yes, but he was clearly as dangerous as he was beautiful. Anyone who could throw blades likes that...

So what was he?

Louis gulped, studied him. His pulse should not have fluttered just then, and his chest should not have ached. But it did. The man was like the dragons in the fairy tales Cowell had read him: too lethal to tame, too mesmerizing to walk away from.

And yet, he suddenly wanted to bury his head in the hollow of this being’s neck. Wanted to wrap himself around him. Wanted to hold on to him and never let go. He even found himself leaning toward him with every intention of giving in to those wants.

_Stop. Don't._

Most of his life, human touch had been denied him. At five, he’d been sent to the Institute, where most of the employees hadn't concerned themselves with anything other than studying his ability. Cowell was the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend, but even he had not hugged or touched him often, as if he feared him as much as he cared for him.

Dating, too, was tough. Men sort of freaked when they learned of his ability. And they always learned. There was no way to hide it. But...

If this man was who - what - he thought he was, he might not care about his little talent. He might let him touch him. And touching him and his heat might very well prove to be as potent a sensation as the silence, yet so much more -

"Boy?" he repeated, the word husky now, wine-rich as it cut into his thoughts.

He froze. Gulped again. Was that...desire flickering in his icy emerald irises, completely obliterating that must-kill glaze? Or was the desire he saw born of pain and brutality, his death imminent? A swarm of emotions bombarded him: another clap of fear, morbid awe and yes, coquettish curiosity. He had little experience with men, and even less with desire.

What had he been thinking, leaning toward him like that? He might have viewed his touch as an invitation. Might have touched him in return.

Why didn't the mere thought send him into hysterics?

Perhaps because he might be wrong. Perhaps he wasn't a dragon after all, but the prince who slayed the dragon to save the princess, or the other prince, as it were. "What's your name?" he found himself asking.

A tension-filled second ticked by, then another, and he assumed the man wouldn't answer. Lines of strain bracketed his rough features, as though being near the small, lost boy was a chore. Finally he said, "Harry. I am called Harry."

Harry... The name slipped and slid through the corridors of Louis’s mind, a seductive chant that promised unimaginable satisfaction. He forced himself to smile in greeting. "I'm Louis Tomlinson."

His attention deviated to his lips. Despite the snow, beads of sweat broke out over Louis’s forehead, glistening. "You should not have come, Louis Tomlinson," Harry snarled, losing all hint of the desire Louis had both fancied and feared. But the man traced his hands up his arms, surprisingly gentle, and stopped at the base of his nape. Gingerly his thumb tripped over his throat, lingering on the wildly thumping pulse.

He sucked in a breath and swallowed it, his fingers moving with the motion. An unintentional yet wholly erotic caress that liquefied his entire body. Until, a moment later, his grip tightened, almost hurting.

He gasped out a raspy "Please," and the man released him completely.

Louis blinked in surprise. Without his touch, he felt... bereft?

"Dangerous," Harry said, this time in Hungarian.

Louis wasn't sure if he meant himself - or him. "Are you one of them?" he asked softly, not switching languages himself. No reason to let the man know he spoke them both.

Astonishment darkened Harry’s gaze, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. "What do you mean? One of them?" English this time.

"I - I -” The words refused to form. Fury was blanketing his features, more fury than he’d ever seen another person project. It radiated from every contour of his hard body. Louis drew his arms around his middle. No, not a prince after all. A dragon, definitely, as he’d first assumed.

Remaining on his knees, Harry inched away from him. He drew in a measured breath and slowly released it, the air misting around his face. His hand hovered over the opening of his boot, as if he couldn't decide whether to reach inside or not. Finally, he said, "What are you doing in these woods, boy? And do not lie to me. I'll know it, and you will not like my response."

Louis somehow found his voice. "I'm looking for the men who live at the top of this hill."

"Why?" The single word was spat.

How much should he reveal? He was one of the men with strange abilities, had to be. He was too vibrant, too powerful to be solely human. But more than that, his mere presence had somehow chased the voices away, something that had never happened to him before. "I need help," he admitted.

"Do you?" There was a conflicting mix of suspicion and indulgence in his expression. "With what?"

He opened his mouth to say...what? He didn't know. In the end, it didn't matter. He was stopped with a quick shake of the man’s curly head. "Never mind. You aren't welcome here, so your explanation is moot. Return to the city. Whatever you came here for, you will not receive."

"But - but..." he couldn't allow himself to just be sent away. He needed him. Yes, he’d only just met him. Yes, the only things he knew about him were his name and the fact that he threw daggers with expert precision. But he was already horrified at the thought of losing the silence. "I want to stay with you." He knew desperation seeped from him, but he didn't care. "Please. Just for a little while. Until I learn how to control the voices myself."

Instead of softening, Harry seemed infuriated by his plea. His nostrils flared and a muscle ticked in his jaw. "Your babbling will not distract me. You're Bait. You have to be. Otherwise you would be running from me in fear."

"I'm not bait." Whatever bait was. "Swear to God." he reached out and gripped his forearms, the flesh firm and solid, unbelievably hot and utterly electrifying underneath his hand. Tingles speared his arm. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

Quick as a snap, the man slashed out a hand and caught the base of Louis’s skull, jerking him forward into a beam of moonlight. The action didn't hurt him. On the contrary, he experienced another electrical jolt. His stomach quivered.

Harry didn't speak, just studied him with an intensity that bordered on cruelty. Louis studied him, too, shocked as something began to flash... swirl... materialize under his skin. A face, he realized with macabre awe. Another face. His heart skipped a beat. _Can't be a demon, can't be a demon._ He made the voices stop. He and the others have done wonderful things for this city. It's just a trick of the light.

While he could still see Harry's features, he could also see that shadow of someone - something - else. Red, glowing eyes. Skeletal cheekbones. Sharp-as-daggers teeth.

Please be a trick of the light.

But the more that skeletal countenance stared at him, the less he could pretend it was an illusion.

"Do you want to die?" Harry - or the skeleton? - demanded, the words so guttural they were barely more than an animalistic growl.

"No." He could kill him, but he’d die with a smile. Two minutes of silence were worth more to him than a lifetime of noise. Scared but determined, and still tingling because of his fever-touch, Louis raised his chin. "I need your help. Tell me how to control my power and I'll leave here and now. Or let me stay with you and learn how it's done."

Harry released him, then reached for him again, then stopped and fisted his hand. "I do not know why I am hesitating," he said, even as he eyed Louis’s mouth with what might have been longing. "Midnight is closing in, and you need to be as far away from me as possible."

The moment the last word left him, he frowned. A second later, he barked, "Too late! Pain is searching for me." He inched away from him, that skeletal mask still flashing behind his skin. "Run. Go back to the city. Now!"

"No," Louis said with only the slightest tremble. Only a fool ran from heaven - even if that piece of heaven possessed a transparent face straight from hell.

Cursing under his breath, Harry jerked the two blades from the tree and pushed to his feet. His gaze lifted skyward, past snow and treetops to the half-moon. His frown became fierce, angry. One step, two, he backed away.

Louis used the tree as leverage and stood. His knees knocked together, nearly collapsing under his weight. Suddenly he could feel the icy wind again, could hear the whisper of chatter closing in on him. A cry of despair rose inside him.

Three steps, four.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "Don't leave me here."

"No time to take you to shelter. You'll have to find it on your own." Harry wheeled around, giving him a view of his broad shoulders and stiff, retreating back, before throwing over his shoulder, "Do not return to this hill, boy. Next time, you will not find me so generous."

"I'm not going back. Wherever you go, I'll follow." A threat, yes, but one he intended to uphold.

Harry stopped and whipped to face him, baring his teeth in another fearsome scowl. "I could kill you here and now, Bait, as I know I should. How would you follow me then?"

Bait again. His heart drummed erratically in his chest, but he met his stare dead on, hoping he appeared stubborn and determined rather than simply petrified. "Believe me, I'd rather you do so than leave me alone with the voices."

A curse, a hiss of pain. Harry doubled over.

Losing his bravado in the face of concern, Louis raced to him. He splayed his fingers over his back and searched for injury. Anything that crumpled this hulking beast had to be excruciating. He shoved him away, however, and Louis stumbled from the unexpected force.

"No," Harry said, and Louis would have sworn he spoke with two separate voices. One a man's. The second... something so much more powerful. It boomed like a thunderstorm, echoing in the night. "No touching."

"Are you hurt?" Louis righted himself, trying not to reveal just how deeply his actions cut. "Maybe I can help. I -”

"Leave or die." He spun and leapt forward, disappearing into the night.

Chatter crashed into his mind, as if it had merely been awaiting the man’s departure. Now it seemed louder than ever before, blaring after the precious silence.

_Langnak itthon kell maradni._

Stumbling in the same direction Harry had taken, Louis covered his ears. "Wait." he moaned. _Shut up, shut up, shut up._ "Wait. Please."

His foot tangled with a broken limb and he toppled again to the ground. A sharp ache tore through his ankle. Whimpering, he dragged himself to his hands and knees and crawled.

_Nem, kérem, hadd éljen._

Couldn't stop. Had to reach him. Wind beat against him, as sharp as the daggers Harry carried.

On and on the voices clamored.

"Please," he cried. "Please."

A fierce roar split the night, shaking the ground, rattling the trees.

Suddenly Harry was beside him again, drowning out the voices. "Foolish Bait," he spat. More to himself, he added, "Foolish warrior."

Crying out in relief, Louis threw his arms around him. Holding tight. Never wanting to let go - even if he did still wear that eerie skeletal mask. Tears streamed down his cheeks, crystallizing on his skin. "Thank you. Thank you for coming back. Thank you." he buried his head in the hollow of his neck, exactly as he’d wanted to do earlier. When his cheek brushed his bare skin, he shivered, those warm tingles rushing through him once more and causing him to press closer.

"You'll come to regret this," Harry said, sweeping him up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Louis didn't care. He was with him, the voices gone, and that was all that mattered.

Harry sped into motion, maneuvering around those ghostly trees. Every so often, he grunted as if in pain. Snarled as if in a rage. Louis begged him to set him down so that he could spare him the burden of his weight, but he squeezed the inside of his thigh, a silent command for him to shut the hell up. Finally he relaxed against him and simply enjoyed the ride.

If only that joy could have lasted.


	3. Chapter 3

_Get home, get home, get home._ Harry chanted the command in his mind, trying to distract himself from the pain. Trying to dampen the urge to do violence... an urge that was building steadily. The boy - Louis - bounced on his shoulder, an unwelcome reminder that he could break at any moment and slaughter everything around him. The boy, especially.

 _You wanted to drown in a boy,_ the spirit taunted. _Here's your chance. Drown in his blood._

His hands curled into fists. He needed to think, but couldn't do so over the pain. He had mentioned a power, asked for his help. Hadn't he? Some of what he had said was lost amidst the roar in his head. All he knew for certain was that he should have left him behind as he'd intended.

But he had heard the boy cry out, a tortured sound - the sort of crazed groan Harry himself had often wanted to release. Something inside him had reacted deeply, and he'd been filled with a need to help him, a need to touch his soft skin just one more time. A need that had somehow proven stronger than Violence. An amazing, unbelievable feat.

And so he'd returned to Louis, even though he'd known the boy was in more danger with him than he was alone in the forest. Even though he'd known he had most likely been sent to distract him and help Hunters gain access to the fortress.

 _Fool._ Now he was draped over him, his sweet, almost feminine scent teasing his nose, his soft curves Harry’s to explore.

 _Or slice,_ the demon goaded.

Hauntingly beautiful as he was, it was easy to understand why the Hunters had sent him. Who would want to mar such lush androgyny? Who would turn such blatant sensuality away? Not him, it seemed.

 _Fool,_ he inwardly cursed again. Hunters! They truly were in Budapest, their tattoos a grim reminder of those dark, dark days in Greece. Clearly they were once more out for blood, for each of the four men following Louis had carried a gun and silencer. For mortals, they'd fought with expert skill.

Harry had emerged the victor in that bloody skirmish, but he had not emerged unscathed. His lower leg had been sliced, and one of his ribs was surely cracked.

Time, it seemed, had only honed their skills.

He wondered how Louis would react when he found out they were gone. Would he cry? Scream? Wail? Would he attack him in a grief-stricken rage?

Did any others wait in town?

At the moment, he couldn't seem to make himself care. Holding Louis in his arms, he was transported, the hell that was his life momentarily receding, leaving only... something he didn't think he could rightly name. Desire, perhaps. No. He discarded the word instantly. It failed to explain the intensity of the rush, the heat.

Instant obsession, maybe.

Whatever it was, he didn't like it. It was more powerful than anything he'd experienced before, threatening to control him. Harry did not need another force trying to pull his strings.

The boy was just so... lovely. So lovely it almost hurt to gaze upon him. His skin was smooth and supple, like cinnamon dipped in a honey pot then churned into lickable cream. His eyes were the sky of a thunderous evening and so haunted they made his chest hurt. He'd never seen a mortal look so tormented and felt a strange kind of kinship with him.

While strands of short, silky hair, the color of chestnuts yet veined with copper and quartz, had wisped around his delicate features, Harry had ached. He’d wanted. Wanted to touch, to taste. Wanted to devour. Consume. But he hadn't wanted to hurt. The knowledge still amazed him.

Louis... His name whispered through his mind, as delicate as the boy himself. Taking him to the fortress was against the rules, a threat to their most guarded secrets. He should be ashamed of himself for carrying him forward rather than away, and the boy should be crying in terror.

Apparently ‘should’ did not mean anything to either of them.

Why wasn't Louis crying? More importantly, why hadn't he cried? When he'd first pounced on him, clearly splattered with the blood of his allies, a delicious smile had lit his face, his pink lips showcasing perfect white teeth.

Remembering that smile, Harry experienced a jolt of blistering arousal. Underneath it, however, confusion still lingered. Though it had been an eternity since he'd last dealt with Bait, he could not recall the Hunters' decoys ever being so transparent in their satisfaction.

Not even Ellie, the Bait who had helped bring Ed, keeper of Distrust, to his knees. Ellie had played the abused, frightened soul to perfection. Seeing her, Ed had decided to act without suspicion for the first time since his demon had been placed inside him. Or maybe not. Harry had always wondered if the man had wanted to die. If so, he'd gotten his wish. He'd been stabbed in the throat moments after opening his home to Ellie - who in turn allowed armed Hunters inside.

Most likely, the stabbing alone would not have killed Ed. The Hunters, however, then proceeded to decapitate him. Ed hadn't stood a chance. Not even an immortal could recover from that.

He'd been a good man, a fine warrior, and hadn't deserved such a bloody demise. Harry, however...

_My murder would be justified._

The Bait before Ellie had seduced Niall. Not that such a thing required much effort. During the act, Hunters had crept inside the man's bedroom and stabbed the warrior in the back, attempting to weaken him before going for his head.

Niall, though, was strengthened by sex. Even injured, he'd managed to fight his way free and kill everyone around him.

Harry couldn't imagine the boy in his arms being cowardly enough to strike from behind. He had faced him and hadn't backed down, even when the spirit inside of him clamored for release. Perhaps Louis was innocent. He hadn't found cameras or dynamite on the trees where he'd lingered. Perhaps -

"Perhaps you are more a fool than you realize," he muttered.

"What?"

He ignored him, knowing it was safer that way. His voice was soft and lilting and prodded at the spirit, mocking in its gentleness. Best to keep him silent.

Finally he spotted the dark, crumbling stone of the fortress. None too soon. An excruciating pain ripped through his stomach, almost knocking him to the ground.

Violence poured through his veins and shimmered in his blood. _Kill. Hurt. Maim._

"No."

 _Kill, hurt, maim_.

"No!"

_Killhurtmaim._

"Harry?"

The spirit roared, desperate, so desperate for release. _Fight it,_ he commanded himself. _Remain calm._ He drew air into his lungs, held it, slowly released it. _Killhurtmaim, killhurtmaim_. "I will resist. I am not a monster."

_We shall see..._

His nails elongated, itching with that inexorable urge to strike. If he didn't compose himself, he would soon assault anything and everything within his reach. He would kill, without mercy, without hesitation. He would destroy this home stone by stone, kicking and clawing. Raging. He would destroy everyone inside of it. And he would rather burn in hell for all eternity than do such a thing.

"Harry?" Louis said again. His sweet voice drifted to Harry’s ears, an entreaty that was part soothing balm, part kindling. "What's - "

"Silence." He skimmed him off his shoulder, still holding him tight, and burst through the front door, nearly ripping the wood from its hinges. Angry voices greeted him. Nick, Liam and Zayn stood in the foyer, arguing.

"You never should have let him leave," Liam said. "He becomes an animal, Nick, annihilating - "

"Stop!" Harry shouted, curt and demanding. "Help!"

All three men spun, facing him.

"What's going on?" Zayn demanded. Seeing Louis, he gaped. Shock settled over his features. "Why have you brought a human into the house?"

Hearing the commotion, Niall and Josh raced into the foyer, features taut. When they spotted Harry, they relaxed. "Finally," Niall said, clearly relieved. But he, too, spotted Louis. He grinned. "Sweet! A present? For me?"

Harry bared his teeth. _Kill them,_ Violence beseeched, a seductive whisper now. _Kill them._

"You shouldn't be here." The words tore from his throat. "Take him and leave. Before it's too late."

"Look at him," Niall said, his relief and amusement gone. "Look at his face."

"The process has already begun," Liam said.

The words spurred Harry to action. Though he found he didn't want to release Louis, even in his madness, he tossed him at the group. Liam caught him effortlessly. The moment the boy’s weight settled on his feet, he winced. Must have twisted his ankle on the hill, Harry realized, concern slipping past bloodlust for a split second.

"Careful of his foot," he commanded.

Liam released him to look at his ankle, but Louis scrambled away from him and limped his way back into Harry's arms. His concern intensified as his arms wound around him. Louis was trembling. But a moment later, he stopped caring. A pestilent haze fell over his mind, brutality obliterating every emotion in its path.

"Release me," he growled, pushing him.

The boy clung to him. "What's wrong?"

Liam grabbed him, jerking him backward and locking him in an iron grip. Had he touched Harry a second longer, he might have clawed him to pieces. As it was, he slammed his hands into the nearest wall.

"Harry," Liam said on a tremulous breath.

"Do not hurt him." The words were for himself as much as the others. "You," he grated, pointing to Zayn with a crimson-stained finger. "Bedroom. Now." He didn't wait for a response, but pounded up the stairs.

He heard Louis fight for freedom and call, "But I want to stay with you."

He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He allowed himself a single glance over his shoulder.

When Liam further tightened his hold on the struggling Louis, his chin brushing his shoulders, Harry's need for bloodshed strengthened. He almost changed paths, almost sprinted back into the foyer to hack his friend to pieces. _Mine,_ his mind shouted _. Mine. I found him. No one but me should be allowed to touch him._

Harry wasn't sure whether it was the spirit or himself who thought such a thing, and he didn't care. He just wanted to kill. Yes, kill. Fury, such fury, exploded through him. He did stop. Did change direction. He was going to slice Liam in half and coat the floor with his friend's blood. _Destroy, destroy, destroy. Kill._

"He's going to attack." Liam.

"Get him out of here!" Nick.

Liam dragged Louis from the room. His panicked cries echoed in Harry's ears, which only managed to increase his darkest needs. The image of his gentle, lovely face flashed in his mind over and over again, becoming the only thing he saw. The boy was terrified. Trusted him, wanted him. His arms had reached for him.

Harry’s stomach was a stinging mass of pulsing agony, but he didn't slow his steps. Any minute, midnight would arrive and he would die - but he was taking everyone here with him. Yes, they must be destroyed.

"Ah, hell," Josh muttered. "The demon has taken over completely. We'll have to subdue him. Liam, get back in here. Hurry!"

Josh, Zayn and Niall advanced. With the speed of a single breath, Harry unsheathed his daggers and launched them. Expecting the attack, all three men ducked and the silver blades soared over them, embedding in the wall. Two seconds later, the men were on top of him and he was lying flat on his back. Fists jabbed into his face, his stomach, his groin. He fought. Roaring, growling, punching.

Knuckles slammed into his jaw, dislocating the bone. A knee jammed into the sensitive flesh between his legs. Still he fought. And as the battle raged, the warriors managed to drag him up the steps and into his bedroom. Harry thought he heard Louis sobbing, thought he saw him trying to tear the men away from him. He jabbed his fist forward and hit something - a nose. Heard a howl. Experienced satisfaction. Wanted more blood.

"Damn it! Chain him, Zayn, before he breaks somebody else's fucking nose."

"He's too strong. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold him."

Minutes passed as he fought, maybe an eternity, then cold metal locked around his wrists, his ankles. Harry bucked and arched, the links cutting into his flesh. "Bastards!" The pain in his stomach was unbearable now, no longer sporadic but constant. "I'll kill you. I'll take every one of you to hell with me."

Zayn stood over him, a dark glaze of determination and regret blanketing his olive features. Harry tried to knock him down by raising his knees and kicking, but the chains held. The warrior, too, held steady, withdrawing a long, menacing sword from his side.

"I'm sorry," Zayn rasped as a clock chimed the hour. And then he stabbed Harry in the stomach.

The metal sliced all the way to his spine before leaving his body. Instantly blood poured from the wound, wetting his chest and stomach. Bile burned his throat, his nose. He cursed; he bucked.

Zayn stabbed him again. And again.

The pain... the agony... His skin felt scorched. With only those three slices, his bones and organs were already shredded, each tear a point of anguish. Still he fought; still he felt a desperate urge to kill.

A boy screamed. "Stop! You're killing him!"

When his voice pierced Harry's consciousness, his struggles became all the more wild. Louis. His boy from the forest. His. Get to him, had to get to him. Had to kill him - no! Had to save him. Kill...save...the two needs battled for supremacy. He jerked at his chains. The metal shackles dug deeper into his wrists and ankles, but he reared up and kicked. The bed shook with the force of his movements, and both the headboard and footboard bent forward with a whine.

"Why are you doing this?" Louis shouted. "Stop! Don't hurt him, please! Oh my god, stop!"

Zayn stabbed him again.

Black cobwebs wove over his vision as he searched the room. Niall, he saw dimly, was striding toward Louis. Reached him, wrapped his arms around him. He was dwarfed by the larger man, enfolded in his shadow. Tears glistened in those cerulean eyes and on his too-pale cheeks.

He fought, but Niall held firm and dragged him from the room.

Harry uttered an animalistic roar. Niall would seduce him. Strip him and taste him. He would not be able to resist; no human could. "Let him go! Now!" He strained so fervently for freedom, a vessel burst in his forehead. His vision blackened completely.

"Get him out of here and keep him out." Zayn stabbed Harry once more, the fifth blow. "He's making him more crazed than usual."

Had to save him. Had to get to him. The sound of rattling chains blended with his panting as he struggled all the more.

"I'm sorry," Zayn whispered again.

Finally, the sixth blow was delivered.

That's when all of Harry's strength seeped from him. The spirit quieted, retreating to the back of his consciousness.

Done. It was done.

He lay on the bed, drenched in his own blood, unable to move or see. The pain didn't leave him, nor did the burning. No, they intensified, more a part of him than his own skin. Warm liquid gurgled in his throat.

Liam - he knew it was Liam for he recognized the deceptively sweet scent of Death - knelt beside him and clasped his hand. That meant his demise was close, so torturously close.

But for Harry, the true torment had yet to begin.

As part of his death-curse, he and Violence would spend the rest of the night burning in the pits of hell. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a cough emerged. More and more blood was rushing into his throat, choking him.

"In the morning, you'll have a lot of explaining to do, my friend," Liam said, adding gently, "Die now. I'll take your soul to hell, as required - but this time you might actually want to remain there, eh, rather than deal with the trouble you've brought into our home."

"B-boy," Harry finally managed to say.

"Don't worry," Liam said. Whatever questions he had, he kept to himself. "We won't hurt him. He'll be yours to deal with in the morning."

"Untouched." The request was odd, Harry knew, because none of them had ever been possessive of another. Louis, though... He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do with him. He knew what he should do - and what he couldn't. Both mattered little just then. Because, more than anything, he knew that he didn't want to share.

"Untouched," he insisted weakly when Liam said nothing.

"Untouched," Liam agreed at last.

The scent of flowers intensified. A heartbeat of time passed, and then Harry died.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small trigger warning for **self-harm**. Zayn is possessed by Pain, after all. It's barely mentioned, but it's there.

"Who are you and how do you know Harry?"

"Let me go!" Louis wiggled and squirmed, trying to free himself from his captor's iron grip. His ankle throbbed, but he didn't care. "They're killing him in there." Oh God. They were killing him, stabbing him over and over again. There'd been so much blood...such terrible screams. He gagged, remembering.

The voices might still be gone, but he felt more tormented than ever.

"Harry will be fine," the man told him. Harry had broken his nose – Louis had seen it - but it had snapped back into place almost immediately. There wasn't even a trace of blood on his face. Now he removed one of his arms from Louis's waist, only to caress his temple and gently brush aside a lock of hair. "You'll see."

"No, I won't see," he all but sobbed. "Let me go!"

"Much as I hate to deny you, I have to. You were causing him undue torment."

" _I_ was causing him undue torment? I wasn't the one stabbing him. Now let me go!" Not knowing what else to do, Louis stilled and gazed up at his captor. "Please." The man had brilliant blue eyes and skin as pale as milk, his face young and boyish. His hair was a bleached blond quiff, making him look taller than he actually was. Nowhere near as tall as Harry. But he was handsome, too beautiful to be real.

And all Louis wanted to do was escape him.

"Relax." The man smiled a slow, seductive smile. Practiced, forced, even to his untrained eye. "You have nothing to fear from me, gorgeous. I'm all about the pleasure."

Fury and fright, sorrow and frustration gave him strength and bravery; Louis slapped him. He'd just watched a man stab Harry, and this person had done nothing to stop it. He'd just watched a man stab Harry, and he dared to flirt with him. He had everything to fear from him.

Blondie lost his grin and frowned down at him. "You hit me." There was surprise in his tone.

Louis slapped him again. "Let. Me. Go!"

His frown deepened. He rubbed his cheek with one hand and held him still with the other. "People do not hit me. People love me."

He raised him palm, ready to deliver another blow.

Sighing, Blondie said, "Fine. Go. Harry's screams have stopped. I doubt you can upset him now, dead as he surely is." His arm fell away from him.

Louis didn't give him time to change his mind. Suddenly free, he leaped into motion, racing down the hall despite the pain in his ankle. When he entered the room and saw the blood-soaked bed and motionless body, he skidded to an abrupt halt.

Dear God.

Harry's eyes were closed; his chest was utterly still.

A sob burst from him, and he covered his mouth with a shaky hand. Red-hot tears filled his eyes. "They killed you." He raced to the bed and cupped Harry's jaw in his hands, tilting slowly. His eyelids didn't flicker open. Breath didn't seep from his nose. His skin was already cold and pale from loss of blood.

He was too late.

How could someone so strong and vital have been destroyed so callously?

"Who is he?" someone said.

Startled, Louis turned. Harry's murderers stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves. How could he have forgotten them? Every few seconds, they glanced in his direction. None of them spoke directly to him. They continued their conversation as if he didn't matter. As if Harry didn't matter.

"We should take him to the city, but he's seen too much," a harsh voice said. The coldest, most uncaring voice he'd ever heard. "What was Harry thinking?"

"All this time, I've lived with him and I never knew what he suffered," a sickly looking brunet with pale brown eyes said quietly. He was dressed entirely in black and wore gloves that stretched to his biceps. "Is it always like this?"

"Not always, no," the one who had wielded the sword said. "He's usually more accepting." His gaze was hard, his tone tormented. "The boy..."

 _Murderer!_ Louis inwardly cried, wanting to attack him. All his life, his ability had revealed more bad than good, forcing him to listen to centuries of hateful accusations and even shrieks of terror. And the one man who'd given him any measure of peace, they'd brutally slain.

 _Do something, Tomlinson._ He scrubbed his burning eyes with the back of his wrist and straightened to shaky legs. What could he do? They outnumbered him. They were stronger than he was.

An extremely tattooed man frowned over at him. He had military-cropped brown hair, an eyebrow ring and soft, full lips. He also had more muscles than a world champion power-lifter. He would have been handsome - in a serial-killer kind of way - if not for those tattoos.

Even his cheeks were painted with violent images of war and weapons.

His eyes were the same shade of green as Harry's, but they lacked any hint of warmth or emotion. Blood dripped down his nose as he rubbed his chin with two fingers. "We have to do something with the boy." That cold, emotionless voice again. "I don't like him being here."

"Even so, Josh, we aren't to touch him." This speaker had brown hair that was clipped close to his head and different-colored eyes - one puppy dog brown, one blue. His face was a mass of scars. At first glance, he was hideous. At second, there was an almost hypnotic quality to him, enhanced by the scent of roses drifting from him. "Tomorrow morning he'll be in the same condition he is now. Breathing and clothed."

"Just like Harry, taking away our fun."

The wry, Irish accented voice came from behind him and he yelped, spinning. The beautiful blonde man stood in the doorway. He watched him, hunger in his eyes, as if he were picturing him naked and liked what he saw.

A tremor started at the top of Louis’s head and worked its way down, all the way to his toes. _Bastards, every one of them!_ His feral gaze scanned the room and narrowed on the bloody sword that had been carelessly tossed onto the floor. The very sword that had sliced through Harry as if he were nothing more than a thin layer of silk.

"I want to know who he is," the cold, tattooed one - Josh - said. "And I want to know why Harry brought him here. He knows the rules."

"He must have been one of the humans on the hill," The sickly one said, "but that still doesn't explain why he brought him into our midst."

He would have laughed if he hadn't felt on the verge of a total breakdown. _I should have listened to Cowell. Demons did live here._

"Well?" Josh prompted. "What do we do with him?"

Each of the men faced him again, and Louis dove for the blade. His fingers curled around the hilt and he straightened, pointing the tip in their direction. The sword was heavier than he'd thought and his arms instantly began to shake under its weight, but he held firm.

His companions merely regarded him with curiosity. Their lack of fear didn't faze him. Though he'd only known Harry a short while, there was something wild inside him that mourned his loss and demanded he avenge his death.

 _Harry._ His name whispered through him mind. He was gone. Forever. His stomach clenched painfully. "I should kill you, all of you. He was innocent."

"Innocent?" someone scoffed.

"He wants to kill us. Hunters have come for us, then," Josh said with disgust.

"A Hunter would not call Harry innocent. Even in jest."

"Bait would not be above it. Remember, every word out of their mouths was a lie, though their faces were always guileless."

"I watched Harry slay four men on my monitor, which he wouldn't have done if they had been innocent. And I doubt a coincidence brought a guiltless pretty boy like this one to the forest at the exact same time."

"Think he has any skill with a sword?"

Snort. "Of course not. Look how he's holding it."

"Brave little thing, though."

Louis gaped at them, hardly able to keep up with the conversation. "Does no one care that a man was murdered here? That you were the ones who murdered him?"

The sickly man laughed, actually laughed, but there was anguish in his cloudy brown eyes. "Believe me. Harry will thank us in the morning."

"If he doesn't kill us for being here in the first place," someone retorted.

To his astonishment, several of the men chuckled. All shook their heads in hearty agreement. Only the one who had rendered the fatal wounds remained silent. He continued to stare at Harry's body, his expression wracked with agony and guilt. Good. Louis wanted him to suffer for what he'd done.

The sensual one, the one who thought no one could resist him, leveled his gaze on him, and he was treated to another slow, seductive smile. It looked strange on his face, too sinful for the cherub cheeks it curved. Something in those blue, blue eyes said that he couldn’t stand himself or his own flirtation. "Put the sword away, sweet, before you hurt yourself."

Louis held tight, determined. "Come and take it from me, you... you... animal!" The words flew from his mouth, a challenge he couldn't hold back. "I may not have any skill with swords, but if you come near me I will hurt you."

There was a sigh. A laugh. A muttered, "What kind of human can resist Niall?"

"I say we lock him in the dungeon." This from the one named Josh. "No telling what he'll do otherwise."

"Agreed," the others echoed.

Edging toward the door, Louis shook his head and gripped the sword more tightly. "I'm leaving. Do you hear me? I'm leaving! And mark my words, justice will be served. Every single one of you will be arrested and executed."

"Harry can decide what to do with him in the morning," the one with the mismatched eyes said calmly, ignoring him.

_As if Harry could decide anything now._

His chin trembled. And then his eyes widened as each of his killers stalked forward, determination in their every step.

 

_Don't hurt me. Please, don't hurt me._

_A pause. A snap._

_An anguished cry._

_My arm!_ Huge, gut-wrenching sobs. _You broke my fucking arm!_

Louis's own arm throbbed in sympathy _._

_I didn't... do anything... wrong._

The voices had returned in full force.

He huddled on the floor of a dark, dank cell, shivering and scared. "I just wanted to find someone who could help me," he whispered. Instead, he'd fallen straight into a Grimm's folk tale, but with no happy ending in sight.

_I will. I will. Just... need... a... moment._

The one-sided conversation had been rolling through his mind for an eternity, it seemed, now a discordant concerto of anger, desperation and pain. Above it, however, a single voice rose: Harry's. Not a voice of the past, but a memory. A burst of screams.

"You left the Institute for this." He shook his head in grief and disgust, wanting to convince himself this day had been nothing more than a nightmare. That a man had not been slain right in front of him. Stabbed. Repeatedly. But he knew the truth. His shouts... God, his shouts. His rage at being chained and beaten, his torment... worse than anything Louis had ever heard from another human being.

Tears rained down his face. He couldn't get his image out of his head - not his image before he died and not his image after. Harshly handsome face almost savage in its intensity. Facial bones blurred and sunken. Emerald eyes bright. Emerald eyes closed. Tall, tanned and muscled body. Broken, bloody, lifeless body.

He whimpered.

After shoving him into this cell, Harry's killers had promised to bring him blankets and food. The vow had been delivered ages ago, but no one had returned. He was glad. He didn't want to see them again. Didn't want to hear them, didn't want to talk to them. He’d rather endure the cold and the hunger.

Shivering, he tugged his jacket tight at the collar. He was thankful he still had it, that the men, those barbaric monsters, hadn't taken it from him during the seemingly endless trek from topside to underground.

Just then, something scampered across his fingertips, squeaking happily, and he jerked. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. He scooted into the nearest corner. Mouse. A hairy little rodent that would eat anything, and where there was one...

Stomach churning, he swept his gaze through the cell. Not that it did any good. The room was too dark, and he wouldn't have been able to see a hand - or a monster - if it were right in front of his face.

"Stay still." Deep breath in. "Stay calm." Deep breathe out.

 _I'll tell you anything you want to know, but please don't hurt me again,_ Broken Arm said, sobbing his way back into Louis’s thoughts. _I didn't mean to sneak inside._ There was a long pause. _Okay, yes, yes. I did. I meant to, but I only wanted to see who had taken residence here. I'm not a hunter, I swear I'm not._

Louis's ears twitched, and he pressed deeper into the rocky wall. Hunter, the man had said. Harry's killers had called him a hunter. What did they mean? Bounty hunter? He frowned and rubbed his swollen, aching ankle. Who could ever think that of five-foot-seven, average Louis?

"Doesn't matter. You have to find a way out of here, Tomlinson." He had to tell the authorities what had happened to Harry. Would they believe him? Would they even care? Or had the men here somehow bewitched them as they'd done the rest of the townspeople - angels, indeed - allowing them to do anything they wanted, whenever they wanted?

A sob gushed from his lips; a tremor raked him. No one should have to die that slowly, that painfully. Dignity gone. Cries unheeded.

One way or another, Harry would be avenged.

 

Harry screamed.

Flames licked him from head to toe. Blistering, melting away his flesh, reducing him to nothing but bone. No, not even bone, he mused in the next instant. The flames had reduced him to ash. But he was still aware... always aware. He still knew who he was, still knew what he was, and that he would have to return to the fire tomorrow.

The agony was nearly more than he could bear. Plumes of smoke thickened the air, scattering soot in every direction. Disgustingly, he knew that soot belonged to him. Was him.

Much too soon, it returned to where he had stood, fused together and became a body, a man - a man that once again caught fire. A body that once again melted bit by grueling bit, pouring flesh from muscle, then flickering orange-gold sparks over muscle before disintegrating altogether. There was another blackened breeze, returning everything to its place so the entire process could repeat itself. Again and again and again.

All the while, Violence roared inside his head, desperate to escape, no longer sated as it had been at the moment of his death. Blending with that were the sounds of the other condemned souls, screaming as the flames of hell devoured them. Demons, those disgusting winged creatures with glowing red eyes, skeletal faces and thick yellow horns atop their heads, fluttered from one tormented prisoner to another, laughing, taunting, spitting.

_I have one of those monsters inside me. Except mine is worse._

The other demons knew it, too. "Welcome back, brother," they would jeer before licking him with their fiery, forked tongues.

Always before, Harry had wished to fade into nothing when the fire overcame him, never to return to hell or to earth. He'd wished to end his miserable existence and finally stop the pain. Always before - but not tonight. Not this time.

Tonight, pain was eclipsed by desire.

Louis's image rose inside his mind, taunting him far more than the demons. _You'll find nothing but bliss with me,_ the small boy’s eyes seemed to say, lips parting, softening for a kiss.

He was a puzzle Harry yearned to solve. His first glimpse of heaven with his warm, amber-rich hair and striking, stormy eyes. He was exquisite and lush, and so unequivocally lovely he called to his every masculine instinct.

Surprisingly, Louis had fought to stay with him. Had even fought to save him from the others, he'd realized only a few minutes ago. He didn't fully understand why, but he liked the notion anyway.

He might not have known what he wanted to do with him earlier, but he knew now. He wanted to taste him. All of him. Bait or not. Hunter or not. He simply wanted. After all his suffering, he deserved a sliver of happiness.

Even in his days as an elite warrior to the gods, he had never desired a specific being above all the rest. After, he had always taken what he could get, when he could get it. But Louis, he wanted specifically. Louis, he wanted now.

Where had Liam placed him? In the room adjoining his? Did he lounge on the bed, naked body wrapped in silks and velvets? That's how he would take him, Harry decided then. Not outside as was his custom. Not on a cold, twig-laden ground. But in a bed, face to face, skin to skin, pumping and sliding slowly.

His body burned with the thought - a burn that had nothing to do with the flames.

 _He means us harm. We'll harm him first and be the better for it,_ the spirit urged.

 _Do not dare suggest it,_ he commanded, trying to eclipse Violence - who, surprisingly, seemed content to discuss Louis calmly now, rather than roar. _I am not a monster._

_We are the same, and that boy spells danger._

Yes, he did. Yet he'd never encountered a being quite as vulnerable as Louis. Alone in the forest, secrets in his pretty eyes. Killers on his trail. Whether they'd meant to ignore him, kill him or use him to kill him and the other Lords, Harry would find out.

In the morning, when Liam returned his soul to his healed body, Harry would find and question him. No, he would touch him first, he decided. Kiss him. Taste his entire body as he so desperately wanted to do right now.

Despite the pain, he found himself grinning with relish. The boy had looked at him with ecstasy in his eyes; he had tried to follow him, to save him. Yes, he had made his own bed. And now he would lie in it. With him.

Only after the loving was done would he question him. And if he discovered that he truly was Bait - there was a pang in his chest - he would deal with him as he'd dealt with the Hunters.

 

"The Titans have overthrown the Greeks," Josh announced. The knowledge had been bubbling inside him since his return to the fortress an hour ago, but with all the commotion he hadn't had a chance to share. Until now. Things had finally quieted - but he knew the peace would last only until his meaning sank in.

Frowning, he plopped onto the plush red couch, Harry's human no longer a concern. If only his words could be dismissed so easily - and what was suddenly making all that noise?

He looked around, scowled and grabbed the TV remote, flicking off the "movie" Niall had just turned on. Titillating moans ceased. The wet slap of man against woman faded from the flat screen. "You have to stop buying that garbage, Niall."

Niall swiped the remote from him and switched the fleshfest back on. Thankfully, he punched the mute button. "Not pay-per-view, bro," he said without a hint of remorse. "This one's from my own personal collection. Oil Wrestlers Gone Wild."

"You become more human every day," Josh muttered. "It's embarrassing. You know that, right?"

"Josh, you cannot make an announcement like that and simply change the subject. You mentioned the...Titans?" Liam said in his ever-calm voice.

Ever-calm. Yes, that described Death perfectly. The immortal maintained an iron lock on his temper - on all of his emotions, really - for when it was unleashed, he was a force even Wrath feared. More than a beast, Liam became a true demon. Josh had only witnessed the transformation once, but he'd never forgotten.

"I thought I heard something along those lines, as well." Zayn shook his head, as if that would help him understand. "What's happening here? First Nick tells us the Hunters have returned, then Harry comes home with a boy. And now you say the Titans have taken over? Is something like that even possible?"

"Yes, it is." Unfortunately. Josh scrubbed a hand over his chopped hair, the short spikes abrading his palm. How he wished he could next deliver happy news. "Apparently the Titans spent their centuries of imprisonment honing their powers. In recent weeks they escaped Tartarus, ambushed the Greeks, enslaved them and seized the throne. They control us now."

There was a heavy silence as everyone absorbed the shocking news. No love was lost between the warriors and the Greeks, the very gods who had cursed them. But...

"You are sure?" Liam asked him.

"Very." Until tonight, all Josh had known about the Titans was that they'd ruled Mount Olympus during the Golden Age, a time of "peace" and "harmony" - two words spouted by the Hunters who'd risen in Greece all those years ago. "They placed me in some sort of tribunal chamber, their thrones circling me. Physically, they are smaller than the Greeks. Their power, however, was unmistakable. I could almost see it, like a living entity. And on their faces, I saw only uncompromising determination and dislike."

Several tense minutes passed.

"Dislike aside, is there a chance the Titans can release us from the demons without killing us?" Zayn voiced the question they undoubtedly all were thinking.

Josh himself had wondered. Had hoped. "I do not think so," he said, hating to disappoint them. "I asked that very question and they refused to discuss it with me."

Another silence, this one even more strained.

"This is... this is..." Niall trailed off.

"Unbelievable," Nick finished for him.

Zayn massaged his jaw. "If they will not free us, what do they plan for us, then?"

There would be no reprieve from the bad news. "All I know for sure is that they plan to take an active role in our existence." The one point in the Greeks' favor was that they had ignored the warriors after cursing them, allowing them to have some sort of life - tormented though it was.

Again, Zayn shook his head. "But... why?"

"I wish I knew."

"Is that why they summoned you?" Liam asked. "To inform you of this change?"

"No." He paused, closed his eyes. "They ordered me to... do something."

"What?" Niall demanded when he failed to elaborate.

He studied each of his friends, trying to find the right words.

Nick stood in the corner, his profile to everyone. Distanced, always distanced. But then, Nick had to be. Zayn sat across from him. Tanned like the sun god, the warrior didn't look as though he belonged on earth, much less in the room. He was busy slicing grooves into his lower arm as he awaited Josh's answer. Every few seconds, Zayn winced. That wince became a satisfied smile as blood trickled, forming tiny crimson rivers over his skin. Pain was the only thing that satisfied him, the only thing that made him feel alive.

Josh had no idea how the man might respond to pleasure.

Niall was sprawled on the couch beside him, hands tucked behind his head as he switched his attention between Josh and the movie, his demon probably urging him to watch just a little more. A man with his kind of luck should be ugly. At the very least, he should have to struggle to lure a human into his bed. Instead, he simply looked at someone with his nearly angelic face and they stripped instantly, willing to be taken anywhere, available bed or not.

Harry's boy hadn't, though, Josh recalled. Why?

Liam leaned against the pool table, his hideously scarred face revealing nothing. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and those disconcerting eyes of his watched Josh intently. "Well?" Liam prompted.

He drew in a breath, released it. "I've been ordered to slay a group of tourists in Buda. Four women." He paused, closed his eyes again. Tried not to feel a single shred of emotion. Cold. To get through this, he'd have to be cold. "All human."

"Come again." Niall jolted upright, frowning over at him, television forgotten.

Josh repeated the gods' command.

Paler than usual, Niall shook his head. "I can buy that we're now under new management. I don't like it, I'm confused as hell by it, but hey. I buy it. What I don't get is that the Titans ordered you, the possessor of Wrath, to kill four human women in town. Why would they do something like that?" He threw up his arms. "That's craziness."

He might be the most promiscuous man ever to roam the Earth, bedding his partners and forgetting them in the same day, but women of every race, size and age were Niall's lifeblood. His entire reason for existence. He'd never been able to tolerate seeing a single one of them hurt.

"They did not give me a reason," Josh answered, knowing a reason would not have mattered. He didn't want to harm those women in any way. He knew how it felt to kill. Oh, yes. He'd killed many, many times before, but always through the undeniable urgings of his demon - a demon that chose its victims well. People who beat or molested their children. People who took joy from the destruction of others. Wrath always knew when a person was deserving of death, their shameful actions playing through his mind.

When the women had been brought to his attention, the demon had tried them and found them innocent. And yet, he was supposed to murder them.

If that happened, if he was forced to spill the blood of the undeserving, Josh would never be the same. He knew it, felt it.

"Did they give you a time frame for when the deed must be done?" Liam asked, still seemingly unaffected. He was Death, the Grim Reaper - Lucifer, he'd even been called, not that the people who had called him by that name were still alive - so Josh's task was probably nothing to him.

"No, they didn't. But..."

Liam arched a dark brow. "But?"

"They did tell me that if I failed to act quickly, blood and death would begin to consume my mind. They said I would kill anything and everything until the day I complied. Just like Harry." They hadn't needed to warn him, though. Wrath had overtaken him numerous times. When the spirit decided it was time to act, Josh always tried to resist, but the cravings for destruction grew and grew until finally he would snap. Even in the worst thrall of Wrath, however, he had never been compelled to kill an innocent. "But unlike Harry, my torment will not end with the dawn."

Gravely, Niall asked, "How are you to do it? Did they at least tell you that?"

His stomach twisted, cramped. "I am to slit their throats," he said. How he would love to refuse to obey these new gods. Only the horror of being ordered to do something even worse had kept him silent.

"Why are they doing this?" Nick demanded, a question they would each ask at least once, it seemed.

He still did not have an answer.

Niall stared over at him. "Are you going to do it?"

Josh looked away. He remained silent, but he knew, deep in his bones, that nothing could save the humans now. They had been placed on the spirit's mental kill-list, no matter that they were innocent, and they would eventually be checked off. One by one.

"What can we do to help?" Liam asked, his eyes sharp.

Josh slammed his fist into the couch arm. If he did this terrible deed when he already teetered on the brink of depravity, he would crumble. He would lose himself to the spirit completely. "I don't know. We're dealing with new gods, new consequences and new circumstances. I'm not sure how I'll react once - " say it, just say it, " - I've killed the women."

"It is possible to change their minds?"

"We are not to even try," he answered, dejected. "They again used Harry as an example, saying we would be cursed as he is if we dared object."

Niall exploded to booted feet and paced from one wall of the spacious room to the other. "I fucking hate this," he grumbled.

"Well, the rest of us love it," Nick said dryly.

"Perhaps you will be doing the women a favor," Zayn said, his attention remaining fixed on his blade as he carved an X on the center of his palm. Crimson drops trickled onto his thigh.

He was the reason all of the furniture was dark red.

"Perhaps I will be ordered to take your life next," Josh replied darkly.

"I need to think about this." Liam worried two fingers over his roughly scarred jaw. "There has to be something we can do."

"Maybe Josh can just obliterate the entire world," Nick said in that annoyingly wry tone. "That way, all possible future targets will be eliminated and we'll never have to have this discussion again."

Josh bared his teeth. "Do not make me hurt you, Disease."

Those piercing dark eyes glowed with wicked humor and Nick offered a mockingly feral grin. "Have I hurt your feelings? I'd be happy to kiss you and make you feel better."

Before Josh could leap across the room - not that he could do anything to Nick - Liam said, "Stop. We cannot be divided. We don't know the magnitude of what we're facing. Now, more than ever, we must stand together. It's been an eventful night and it's not over yet. Niall, Zayn, head into town and make sure there are no more Hunters lurking about. Nick - I don't know. Watch the hill or make us some money."

"What are you going to do?" Niall asked.

"Consider our options," he replied gravely.

Niall's brows arched. "What of Harry's boy? I will be better able to fight any Hunters if I spend a little time between his -"

"No." Liam stared up at the vaulted ceiling. "Not him. Remember, I promised Harry he'd return to him untouched."

"Yeah, I remember. Remind me again why you'd promise such a dumb-ass thing."

"Just... leave him alone. He didn't seem to want you, anyway."

"Which is even more shocking than the news about the Titans," Niall muttered. Then he sighed. "Fine. I'll keep my hands to myself, but someone needs to feed him. We told him we would."

"Perhaps we should starve him," Zayn suggested. "He'll be more likely to talk in the morning if he's weakened from hunger."

Liam nodded. "I agree. He might be more willing to give Harry the truth if he thinks it will buy him a meal."

"I don't like it, but I won't protest. And I guess this means I'm going into town without my vitamin D injection," Niall said on another sigh. "Let's do this, Pain."

Zayn was on his feet a moment later and the two strode out of the room, side by side. Nick followed suit, though he gave them a generous head start. Josh couldn't imagine the pressure of making sure no part of himself ever touched another. Had to be hell.

He snorted. Life for all the warriors here was hell.

Liam closed the distance between them and eased into the leather chair opposite him. The fragrance of roses drifted from him. Josh had never understood why the Grim Reaper smelled like a spring bouquet - surely a curse even worse than Harry's.

"Thoughts?" he asked, studying his friend. For the first time in many, many years, Liam radiated something other than calm. His forehead was furrowed and there were stress-creases further marring his scarred face.

Those scars slashed from each of his dark brows all the way to his jawline, thick and puckered. Liam never talked about how he'd acquired them and Josh had never asked. While they'd lived in Greece, the warrior had simply returned home one day, pain in his eyes and marks on his cheeks.

"This is bad," Liam said. "Really bad. Hunters, Harry's boy - however he fits into this - and the Titans, all in one day. That cannot be an accident."

"I know." Josh dragged a hand down his face, his fingertip catching and tugging on his eyebrow piercing. "Do the Titans want us dead, do you think? Could they have sent the Hunters here?"

"Perhaps. But what would they do with our demons once our bodies were destroyed and the spirits released? And why order you to act for them, if they only meant to have you slain?"

Good questions. "I have no answers for you. I don't even know how I'm going to do this deed that's been demanded of me. The women are innocents. Two are young, in their twenties, the third is in her late forties and the fourth is a grandmother. She probably bakes cookies for the homeless in her spare time."

Curious about them, he had hunted and found them in a hotel in Buda after he'd left Olympus. Seeing them in the flesh had only intensified his horror.

"We can't wait. We must act as soon as possible," Liam said. "We can't allow these Titans to dictate our actions in this or they will attempt to do so over and over again. Surely we can come up with a solution."

Josh thought they would have better luck figuring out a way to patch the charred, tattered remains of his soul when he killed those women. And even that seemed hopeless.

As it was, they sat in silence for a long while, minds churning with options. Or rather, lack of them. Finally Josh gave a shake of his head and felt as if he had just welcomed a new demon inside him. Doom.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometime during the endless night, Louis stood and felt his way around the cramped cell. His ankle throbbed with every step, a reminder of the hours he'd spent climbing the snowcapped mountains outside and the sense of hope he'd lost with six swings of a sword.

His search for a way out had proved fruitless. There was no window like the one in Rapunzel's tower, no wicked witch's magic mirror to walk through. Nor had he found any bars to squeeze through or tunnels to burrow into like Alice. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his cell phone. Not that he could get reception in the dungeon of a castle.

As time ticked by, the darkness seemed to close tighter and tighter around him.

The mice had stopped squeaking, at least.

He just wanted to go home, he thought, once again huddling on the floor. He wanted to forget this entire experience. He could live with the voices now. He would live with them. Trying to silence them had cost him too much. His job, perhaps. His lifelong friendship with Cowell, maybe. A piece of his sanity, definitely.

He would never be the same.

Harry's lifeless face would haunt him, waking and asleep, for the rest of his life. Oh God. Tears streamed down his cheeks, chilling with the cold. How many would he shed before the ducts dried completely? Before the ache in his chest faded?

 _Please, just let me go,_ a voice babbled. _Please. I swear. I'll never return._

 _Me, too,_ he thought miserably.

"Have you been here all night, boy?"

A moment passed, the question unanswered as Louis oriented himself. That voice... he would swear it came from the present, not the past. The rough, booming sound of it echoed in his ears.

"Answer me, Louis."

Another moment passed before he realized it was the voice that had come to haunt him above all others. A voice that was somehow imprinted in his mind, even though he'd only heard it a few times before. He gasped, eyes straining through the darkness, searching...searching...but finding nothing.

"Louis. Answer me."

"H-Harry?" No, surely not. It had to be a trick.

"Answer the question."

Suddenly a door was opened and rays of light flooded the cell. Louis blinked against the orange-gold spots clouding his vision. A man stood in the doorway, a tall, black shadow of menace and muscle.

Sweet silence - silence he'd only encountered once before - enveloped him.

He flattened his palms against the wall behind him and inched to a stand. Shock pounded through him and his knees wobbled. He wasn't... He couldn't be... This wasn't possible. Wasn't even fathomable. Only in fairy tales did something like this happen.

"Answer me," the man said yet again. There was violence in his tone now, as if he spoke with two voices. Both dark, thick and thunderous.

Louis opened him mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. That double voice was guttural, turbulent and yet sensual beyond his wildest dreams. Harry. He hadn't been mistaken. Shivering, he wiped at his tearstained cheeks with the back of his hand.

"I don't understand," he breathed. _Am I dreaming?_

Harry - no, the man, for he couldn't possibly be Harry, no matter how similar the voices - stepped into the cell. His attention jerked to the side, away from Louis, as if he needed a moment to compose himself.

Golden rays of sunlight danced over him, reverently caressing his beautiful face. Same dark eyebrows, same thickly lashed emerald eyes. Same blade of a nose and lush lips.

How could this be? How had his captors produced the exact likeness of the man he'd met last night, down to that same feral edge? A man who stopped the voices of the past with his mere presence?

A twin?

Louis’s eyes widened. A twin. Of course. Finally, something made sense. "They killed your brother," he blurted out. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he was glad. But maybe, just maybe, he'd take him into town and he could report the horrendous crime he'd witnessed. Justice could be served.

"I do not have a brother," he said. "Not by blood."

"But... but..." _Harry will be fine,_ the gorgeous man had said. He shook his head. Impossible. He'd watched him die. But an angel could have been resurrected, right? A hard lump formed in his throat. The men of this household were most definitely not angels, no matter what the townspeople claimed.

The man’s gaze swept back to Louis, down his body in a possessive appraisal and up again. He scowled. "Did they leave you here all night?" Countenance darker by the second, he scanned the rest of the cell. "Tell me they gave you blankets and water and only removed them this morning."

Shaking still, Louis smoothed a hand over his face and through his hair, wincing at the tangles he encountered. Dirt probably caked him from head to toe. Like that matters. "Who are you? What are you?"

For a long while, the man didn't speak. Just studied him as though he were a bug under a microscope. Louis knew that look well. It was a favorite of everyone at the Institute. "You know who I am."

"But you can't be him," he insisted, not wanting to accept the other alternative. He was not like the others, the demons who had slain him. "My Harry is dead."

 _"Your Harry?"_ Something fiery flickered in his eyes. "Yours?"

Louis lifted his chin, refusing to answer.

Lips inching into what might have been a smile, Harry held out one arm and beckoned him over. "Come. We will clean you up, warm you and feed you. Then I will...explain."

That hesitation made it clear he wouldn't be explaining anything. He had something else in mind and his tone suggested that something would be intense. Louis remained in place, scared to the core. "Let me see your stomach," he said, stalling for time.

The man’s fingers gave a swift jerk. "Come."

A part of him wanted to go to him, to follow wherever he would lead. Because he did look like Harry, and whatever else Harry was, he'd still been the best thing to ever happen to him. But once again he held his ground. "No."

"Come."

He shook his head. "I'm staying here until you show me your stomach."

"I won't hurt you, Louis." The words ‘not yet’ echoed from the walls - unsaid, but there all the same. Even more unnerving, the sound of his name on his tongue was decadent, as if he couldn't help but savor it. And desire another taste. "Louis," he repeated.

Another shiver raked him and he frowned. This man shouldn't desire him, and he damn sure shouldn't desire this man. "You can't be my Harry. You just can't."

That intense, fiery something flashed over his face again. "That's twice now you've claimed me as yours."

"I-I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. Harry had saved him from the voices, for a little while at least. He had watched him die. They were connected. He was his.

"Don't be sorry." He sounded almost tender just then. "I am Harry," he insisted. "Now come."

"No."

Tired of his refusal, the man closed the rest of the distance between them. He smelled of wanton heat and primitive rituals performed in the moonlight. "I'll carry you over my shoulder if I must, just as I did last night. If I'm forced to do it, however, I cannot guarantee you'll make it out of this cell with your clothes on. Understand?"

Oddly, his words were heady when they should have been frightening. Comforting when they should have been intimidating. Only Harry knew the way he'd been carted. He'd switched him to his arms before entering the chateau and yelling at his murderers.

"Please," he found himself saying. "Just show me your stomach." The more he demanded to see it, the more he wanted to. Would he find stitched wounds? Smooth skin?

Would there be any indication that this man had been stabbed over and over again?

At first he gave no reaction to him request. Then, finally, he sighed. "It appears I am the one who will not make it out of here with my clothes on." He reached for the hem of his black tee and slowly... slowly... raised it.

Despite his insistence, Louis couldn't yet work up the courage to tear his attention from the man’s intense emerald gaze. He told himself it was because his eyes were so beautiful, so mesmerizing that he was lost in them, drowning. But he knew that was only half the truth. If he was stitched, was scabbed... if this was Harry...

"You wanted to look. So look," the man commanded, both impatient and resigned.

Do it. Look. Inch by inch, his gaze lowered. He saw a corded neck and a wildly ticking pulse. A collarbone mostly covered by black cloth. He saw one of his hands fisting that cloth right above his heart. His nipples were tiny, ruddy and hard. His skin was that otherworldly pale he'd admired in the forest, and he was stacked with rope after rope of muscle. There was a butterfly across his ribs, an otherworldly tattoo that seemed alive and angry. 

And then he saw them. Six scabbed-over wounds. Not stitched, but red and angry. Painful.

He sucked in a shocked breath. Almost in a trance, he reached out. His fingertip brushed the scab that slashed through his navel. The healing sore was rough and warm and abraded his palm. Electric tingles rushed up his arm.

"Harry," he gasped out.

"Finally," Harry muttered, backing away as if he were a bomb, detonation imminent. He dropped the shirt, blocking the injuries from his view. "Are you satisfied now? I'm here, and I'm very real."

He - no, not _he._ Harry. Not his twin, not a dream. Not a trick. He'd been stabbed; the evidence was there, those six hellish wounds. He'd had no heartbeat, no breath. And now he stood before him.

"How?" he asked, needing to hear him say it. "You're not an angel. Does that mean you're a demon? That's what some people have said about you and your friends."

"The more you speak, the more you hang yourself. Will you follow me now?"

Would He? Should He? After that "hang yourself" remark..."Harry, I - " What?

"I showed you my stomach. In return, you said you would come with me."

Did he really have any other choice? "Fine. I'll follow you."

"Do not try to run. You will not like what happens." Motions fluid, he wheeled around and marched out of the cell.

Louis paused only a moment before limping after him, doing his best to stay close on his heels. His hands itched to touch him again, to feel the life pulsing beneath his skin. "You never answered my question," Louis said. The farther they walked from the cell, the more the cold air gave way to warmth. "If you are a demon, I can take it. Really. I won't be grossed out or anything." he hoped. "I just have to know so I can prepare myself."

No response.

Those flaxen rays of sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting rainbow flecks on the stone walls. Fatigue and lack of nourishment must have weakened him, because he fell a few steps behind. "Harry," he said, a low entreaty.

"No conversation," Harry replied, his gait never slowing as they climbed a flight of stairs. "Perhaps later."

Later. Not what he'd hoped for, but better than never. "I'll hold you to that." he stumbled and winced, sharp pains shooting through his ankle.

Harry stopped abruptly. Before Louis realized what he'd done, he'd slammed into his back with a pained cry. Immediately that tingling warmth returned, sparking, catching fire and spreading.

As he struggled to find his balance, Harry hissed a breath through his teeth and spun around, pinning him with a vicious stare. His eyes were black, the emerald gone as if it had never been. "Are you hurt?"

A tremor swam through him. Yes. "No."

"Do not lie to me."

"I twisted my ankle last night," he admitted quietly.

Harry’s features softened as his gaze slowly perused him, lingering on his hips, his thighs. Goose bumps broke out over his skin. It was as though he were stripping away his clothing piece by piece, leaving him in nothing but flushed skin. And he liked it. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest; heat pooled low in his stomach.

Suddenly he didn't care about answers, the pain in his ankle or the lethargy in his muscles. His nipples hardened and strained. His stomach clenched and unclenched with need. His skin felt too hot and tight for his bones. He wanted strong arms wrapped around him, comforting him, holding him close.

A moment later, he realized he was reaching out.

"No touching." Harry jumped onto the step behind him, widening the distance between them. All hint of softness left him. "Not yet."

Louis’s arms fell to his sides as disappointment crashed through him. No answers, no touching, he silently mocked, fighting off the decadent rush of pleasure that came with finally being close to the man who'd consumed his thoughts all night. His warmth, the silence... a combination lethal to his common sense.

One stroke, that's all he'd needed - all he'd wanted, surely - but Harry was determined to deny him. "What about breathing?" he asked dryly. "Can I do that?"

The taller man’s lips twitched, smoothing the edges of his fierceness. "If you do it quietly."

His eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. "Well, aren't you a sweetie. Thanks a lot."

That twitch became a full-fledged smile, the blinding force of it knocking the air from Louis’s lungs. He was beautiful. Absolutely mesmerizing. Louis found himself wanting to reach out to press his finger tip in to the dip of Harry’s dimple, caught in his snare yet again - how did he do that to him? - reaching up without thought. Craving that spark of contact, yes, yes. Needing... needing...

He gave a sharp shake of his head, humor suddenly gone. Louis stilled, annoyed with himself.

"There is something I need to do before the touching can commence," Harry said, the words so husky and low he felt them as deeply as a caress.

"What is it?" Louis asked, biting his bottom lip as emerald began to reclaim his eyes, trickling from his pupils to overshadow the black. Amazing.

"Doesn't matter." Frowning, Harry reached out as if he meant to stroke the boy’s cheek. He caught himself and dropped his arm to his side, a mirror of Louis’s own actions a few moments before. "What does matter is that you never answered me. Were you in that cell all night?"

Harry’s heady, masculine scent wafted to his nose, summoning him closer. He tried to resist, truly he did, but found himself leaning toward him despite his warning. "Yes."

Again, fury darkened his face. "Were you fed?"

"No."

"Given blankets?"

"No." Why did he care?

"Did anyone hurt you?"

"No."

"Did anyone...touch you?" A muscle ticked in his jaw, once, twice.

Louis’s face scrunched in confusion. "Yes. Of course."

"Who?" Harry demanded. His face began that freaky change, gnarled skeleton flashing and churning under his skin as if he wore a see-through mask. Even his eyes changed again. Black covered emerald, then red covered black, glowing ominously.

Another of those hard lumps formed in his throat and he struggled to catch his breath. Not even in the forest, not even while chained to a bed, a sword slicing through his organs, had he exuded such ferocity.

_Why are you still standing here? Run!_

His expression twisted, as though he knew what Louis planned to do. "Don't," he said, confirming his fear. "You will only incite me further. This will pass in a moment. Now tell me who touched you."

"All of them," he forced out, remaining in place. "I think. But they had to," he hurried to assure him. He couldn't believe he was defending Harry’s murderers, but it seemed the fastest way to calm him down. "It was the only way to get me inside the cell."

He relaxed, but only slightly. The skeletal image receded and the red glow faded from his eyes. "They didn't touch you sexually?"

He shook him head, relaxing a bit himself. He'd been angry with the men, then, not with him for resisting.

"I will allow them to live. Barely." Forgetting his own rule, Harry cupped his palms over Louis’s temples and forced his attention on his face.

He experienced those electric tingles again as his warm breath fanned his nose. Harry was so tall he dwarfed him, his shoulders so broad they engulfed him.

"Louis," he said gently.

The swift change in him, from beast to concerned gentleman, was dizzying.

"I didn't want to discuss this yet, but I find I must hear your response now." Heavy pause as he stared at him. "I killed those four men last night. The ones following you."

"Following me?" Had someone from the Institute seen him and come after him? Had they - the rest of his words finally registered. He gasped as a high-voltage shock-wave slid down his spine. "You killed them?"

"Yes."

"What did they look like?" he choked out. If Dr. Cowell had been slain because of him... he pressed his lips together to cut off a pained moan.

Harry described the men - tall, strong warriors - and he slowly relaxed. Most of the employees he'd met at the Institute were older, like Cowell. Many were pale, with thinning hair and glasses, eyes weakened from constantly staring at computer screens. Relief speared him, which in turn made him feel guilty. People had died last night. It shouldn't matter whether he knew them or not.

"Why would you do something like that?"

"They were armed and eager for battle. I had a choice - kill them or let them kill me."

He said it without a single hint of remorse, as though it were a simple point of fact. What a bloody, violent place this fortress had turned out to be. Harry, too. His savior spoke like a veteran soldier...or a cold and callous killer like his roommates. He didn't, and wouldn't, hesitate to slay.

So why did Louis still want his arms around him?

Whatever emotion Harry saw on his face seemed to answer his unspoken question. His brow puckered and his mouth thinned. In displeasure? But why? Before Louis could study him further, he turned away and climbed two more steps, saying, "Forget I mentioned it."

"Wait." He leapt forward, wincing at the renewed pain in his ankle and grabbing hold of his bicep. A puny move, really, but he stopped.

Harry stiffened, then slowly turned his head and growled down at his fingers.

Louis jerked away from him. Not because of his reaction but because he'd felt more of those strange tingles. He'd have liked to believe it was static cling. Something, anything, besides more of that oh, so wrong desire.

"Sorry," he muttered. No touching, he reminded himself. It was better for both of them that way. He couldn't seem to control his body's reaction when they were close. Actual, prolonged contact might reduce him to a drooling puddle. "Harry?"

In profile his expression appeared blank, completely devoid of emotion. "Yes?"

"Don't be mad, but it is technically later so I'm going to bring us back to Topic One. What are you?" Before Harry could jump back into motion as if Louis hadn't spoken, he added, "I answered your questions. Please answer mine."

He didn't. But he did face him again.

Nervous, Louis ran his tongue over his lips. Harry’s gaze followed the movement and his nostrils flared. The smaller boy didn't mean to, but he started babbling. "Look, there are all kinds of unusual creatures in the world. No one knows that better than me. Did I mention I know firsthand that demons exist? I just want to know what I'm dealing with here." Shut up. Stop talking.

If only Harry would respond. He'd never had to fill a silence before. Never thought silence could be uncomfortable.

Harry eased down a step, the action measured and precise as it closed the small distance between them; Louis eased down a step in response, widening it again.

"No more questions. I want you bathed, fed and resting within the hour. You're covered in dirt, wavering on your feet because of hunger and there are dark circles under your eyes. Afterward, we can... talk."

Again, that hesitation. It disconcerted him, and he gulped. "If I asked you to take me back to the city, what would you say?"

"Unequivocally, no."

 _I thought so._ His shoulders slumped. No matter how much he might want this man - or maybe because of how much he wanted this man - he had to start acting like a rational human being and escape.

What if he was next in line for a stabbing? He wouldn't rise from the dead, that much Louis knew.

Yesterday he would've sold his soul to come here. _Who are you kidding? You did sell your soul._ He might not have learned to control the voices unless Harry was with him, but he simply couldn't stay. There were too many uncertainties and too much violence.

But to escape, he'd have to endure the mountain, the cold, the fog and the voices. _You can do it. You have to do it._

Harry arched a brow. "Do I need to lock you up again, Louis?" he asked, as if reading his thoughts.

The threat scared and infuriated him, but he shook his head. No reason to upset him and risk getting himself killed or thrown back in that icy, damp prison, freedom unattainable. Outside of it, at least, he stood a chance. Small though it was.

_Silence isn't as sweet as you hoped, is it?_

"Do you want to leave because there is someone you need to speak with?" Harry asked. He failed to disguise his growing anger with that polite inquiry - Louis saw the flickers of it just beneath the surface of his skin. "Is someone anxious to know where you are?"

"My boss," he said honestly. Maybe, if he found a phone, he could call him. He could then call the police - no. He nixed that thought immediately, reminding himself they might be entranced by the ‘angels .’

But if he could call Cowell, the Institute could devise a way to rescue him. He could return to his old life and pretend the last two days had never happened - even though the thought of abandoning Harry created an inexplicable ache in his chest. _Stupid boy!_

"Who exactly is your boss?"

As if he would tell him and put an innocent man in danger. Instead, he gathered his courage and said, "Let me go, Harry. Please."

Another pause, heavier than before. Harry stepped closer, placing them nose to nose as he had in the forest. His eyes were bright emerald now. "Last night I told you to return to the city. You refused. You even followed me. You cried out for me. Remember?"

The reminder stung. "A moment of insanity," he whispered, looking down at his hands. His fingers were intertwined, the knuckles white.

"Well, that moment of insanity sealed your fate, boy. You're staying here."

Harry escorted the reluctant Louis to his bedroom. He'd already cleaned the floor and thrown out the soiled mattress, replacing it with a new one from the array in the room next door. In anticipation of his seduction, he'd prepared a bath for him, made up a platter of meats and cheeses, opened a bottle of wine and turned down the clean, sun-kissed sheets.

He'd never put so much effort into a coupling, had only heard Niall talk about how quickly humans melted when men pampered them like this.

Harry hadn't realized Louis would spend the entire night in a cell or that he would need all of this care thanks to his friends. His fingers curled into a tight fist.

 _His comfort doesn't matter_. He wasn't sure who the thought came from - the demon or himself. He only knew it was a lie.

"Bathe, change and eat," he forced himself to say. "No one will bother you." He paused. "Is there anything else you might require?"

Louis walked around him in a wide half circle, turning to face him almost immediately, as if he didn't trust him at his back. "Freedom would be nice."

"Besides that."

Louis’s gaze scanned the room. Harry didn't like how pale he was, how wobbly and withdrawn. He had not been so drained last night, even in the bitter chill of the forest. "What about wiping out my memory of the past few days?"

"Besides that," he repeated darkly, not liking that the boy wanted to forget him.

He sighed. "No. There's nothing, then."

Harry knew he should leave, give him a chance to relax and follow his commands, but he found himself reluctant to do so. He leaned against the side of the door. Louis remained in the center of the room, arms crossed over his middle, stretching the sleeves of the dark jacket he wore over his fingers. His mouth watered.

"Have you done this to many humans?" Louis asked in a conversational tone.

Harry’s eyes snapped up and locked with his, his body tightening. "Done what?" Entranced them? Seduced them? His throat was suddenly blocked by a hard mass.

Now he snorted. "Locked them away. What else?"

The mass quickly dissolved. "You are the first," he replied, doing his best to hide his disappointment.

"And what do you have planned for me, special boy that I am?"

"Only time will tell," he answered honestly.

A shadow of concern darkened his expression. "How much time?"

"We shall have to discover the answer together."

Now he flashed him a frown. "You're the most cryptic man I've ever met."

Harry shrugged. "I have been called worse."

"I'm sure you have," Louis muttered.

Even the insult did not drive him away. Just a little longer..."I did not know what foods you would like, so I brought you a little of everything we had in the kitchen. I fear there wasn't much to choose from."

"Thank you," Louis said, then pressed his lips together. A flash of anger descended over his face. "I don't know why I'm being polite to you. Look at what you're doing to me."

"Taking care of you?"

His cheeks flushed, and he glanced away from him.

"Do you belong to a man, Louis?" he asked, hating the thought.

"I don't understand your question. Am I married? No. Do I have a boyfriend? No. But I do have friends, and people will worry about me," he rushed to add, as if suddenly realizing he'd made himself vulnerable.

Who did he hope to convince? Harry? Or himself?

"They'll search for me. They will," he insisted when he failed to respond.

"But they will not find you," Harry said, confident. The four last night hadn't made it up the hill. His other friends wouldn't, either.

The boy’s hand fluttered to his throat, drawing Harry’s attention to the pulse hammering there. Why did he find himself so entranced by the beat of his heart, compelled to touch the evidence of its movement?

"I didn't mean to scare you," he told him. He wasn't certain which of them was more surprised by his words - Louis or himself.

"I don't understand you," he whispered.

Neither did he understand himself. And the more he stood here talking to him, the less sense he made. He straightened. "Clean yourself up. I will return later." Not giving Louis a chance to counter, he stepped into the hall, shutting the door without a backward glance.

Better this way. From the moment Harry had asked him if he belonged to a man, the demon had begun to churn inside of him, eager for a fight. If he stayed, he would touch the boy. If he touched him, he would take him. But he did not want to risk tangled bodies and heated kisses turning to biting, clawing and a too-rough pounding.

The delicate boy inside his room would not survive.

"Damn this," he growled. Louis was, beyond any doubt, the sweetest-looking human he'd ever encountered. His mouth still watered for him; his besieged body wept for him. Hurting him was not his desire, no matter that he had admitted to knowing about the demon, as only a Hunter or Bait could. No, he wanted only to pleasure him.

Turning, Harry locked the door from the outside. Switching the tumblers was something else he'd done in anticipation of his seduction. Jumping from the bedroom's terrace would be the only other way out, and he doubted Louis wanted to fall five stories and land on jagged rocks. Still, Harry had glued the window leading to the terrace shut, just in case.

Harry stalked down the hallway, praying the other warriors had not fled for the day. When he'd awakened in his already-healing body, his first thoughts had been of Louis. He had prepared his room and a meal for him and sought Liam, finding him in the entertainment room and demanding to know what happened.

"Dungeon," the man had muttered, a strange glint in his eyes.

Furious, Harry had raced from the room, desperate to assure himself that the boy was in the same condition he'd left him in: alive and untouched. He'd thought that at least his friends would have given him food, water and blankets. Wrong. Louis could have frozen to death. He could have starved. And they wouldn't have known.

Had they expected Harry to passively accept such a thing?

Wrong again.

One glance at Louis's dirty, frightened features and he'd wanted to kill someone. He'd barely leashed the urge, telling himself Louis’d soon be lying in his bed, naked, open to him. And while that had calmed him, it had not calmed the demon - had only managed to incite it further.

Now Violence needed an outlet for its growing rage. For only then would Harry be able to touch Louis without fear of snapping that fragile little body.

Body... Louis... two words sure to arouse him when used in the same sentence. Luminous as he was, he was every fantasy Harry'd ever had come to life, and he planned to sate himself inside him, over and over again, taking him in every position imaginable and even some that aren't.

Soon Louis would want that, too.

Desire had glistened in the boy’s eyes when he'd looked at him, and he had constantly reached for Harry, clearly hoping for some sort of physical contact. He'd even smelled Louis’s arousal, a perfume of passion, innocence and that delectable honey. Harry frightened him, though, and that fear overrode his desire.

_You should be happy that Bait fears you._

_Should,_ he inwardly scoffed. How he was coming to hate that word.

Was the boy Bait, though?

When Harry had mentioned the four humans who'd followed him, Louis had appeared genuinely surprised. Horrified by his actions, true, but most humans were horrified by war and carnage.

More perplexing still, he had freely admitted to knowledge of the demons. He hadn't tortured him for the information. Why would Bait willingly do such a thing? Why not pretend he thought he was human to lower his defenses?

And so far, he had not tried to lead him from the fortress, nor had he tried to let anyone inside. But then, he hadn't yet had the freedom to do so, Harry reminded himself. And he wouldn't.

What confused him most of all, however, was that he had tried to save him from his friends. That, he couldn't rationalize away. Saving someone he'd meant to harm was ridiculous. Louis could have been harmed himself.

He was a walking contradiction to Harry’s black-and-white world.

Tomorrow he would deal with his true reasons for being here. Today, well, today was meant for other things.

His boots clicked against the floor, the sound echoing from the walls. The entertainment room loomed ahead and he quickened his step. The spirit purred in anticipation as his bones ached for a fight.

When he stood in the wide expanse of the doorway, he saw popcorn scattered over the floor and ground into the crimson rug. His trained eye spotted several splotches of dried blood. Obviously Zayn had been here. For once, the TV was switched off. Balls littered the surface of the pool table, as if someone had stopped a game midway through.

But no sign of the men, not even Liam. Where had everyone gone?

Harry stormed through the fortress, bypassing the luxuries they'd acquired over the years. The hot tub, the sauna, the gym, the makeshift basketball court. None of that would help him.

He reached Niall's room first and burst inside without knocking. The black silk-covered bed was rumpled but empty. The blow-up dolls Nick had purchased were sprawled in every direction, a rapt but useless audience. Whips, chains and a variety of sex toys Harry couldn't identify lined the walls. They weren't in use, which meant Niall should be inside the fortress. Somewhere.

Shaking his head, Harry stalked down the hall.

_Fight. Fight. Fight._

He tried to ignore the demon's voice as he entered Zayn's room. No Zayn, and no sexual toys. Instead there were weapons. All kinds of weapons. Guns, knives, throwing stars. There was a blue wrestling mat on the floor with more dried blood splattered over it. There was a punching bag, a few dumbbells. Several holes marred the walls, as if someone had punched the stone until it crumbled into sand.

He would have to patch those up later.

_Fight, fight, fight._

Liam's room was locked, and no one answered when he knocked. Josh and Nick's rooms were empty. Frustration rode Harry's shoulders. Black spots were beginning to wink in and out of his line of vision.

_Fightfightfight._

He craved Louis, but he could not have him until the urge for violence was tamped - and that could not happen until he found the men. All of which only made him angrier. He strode back into the hall, his biceps flexed, the blood rushing through them blistering hot.

_Fightfightfight!_

"Where are you?" he shouted. He punched the wall once, twice, leaving a groove identical to the ones he'd seen in Zayn's room. His knuckles throbbed, but it was a good pain, a pain that made the spirit rumble happily.

Harry stopped and punched the wall again.

He didn't have a lot of time. Midnight would come again. Death would claim him. Before that happened, he had to lose himself in Louis. Had to know every inch of his body, for the torment of not knowing was far worse than burning in hell each night.

 _What if the boy doesn't truly desire you?_ the demon taunted. _What if he's pretending to want you so you'll give him information? What if he's thinking of another man every time you're near and his arousal is for him?_

Roaring, Harry once more slammed his fist into the wall. More of the stone cracked and crumbled. Louis wanted him. He did. Do not react. Do not listen to the spirit.

Violence shut its mouth, liking his vehemence, his sense of possession.

"What are you doing, messing up the walls rather than fixing them?"

Harry heard the familiar voice and spun. Blood dripped from his hands, warm and invigorating.

Josh stood at the end of the hallway. Light streamed in from the windows, dancing over the man's tough frame. One beam hit directly atop his dark hair, a bright crown that illuminated his decorated skin.

As if it had never been stroked, never been eased, Violence howled to full life. Harry pointed at his friend and scowled. "You left him down there."

"So?" The black demon tattooed on Josh's neck seemed to blink its red-rimmed eyes, awakening from a deep slumber. Saliva seemed to drip from its sharp-toothed mouth. "Did he talk?"

"About?"

"His reasons for being here."

"No."

"Let me ask him, then."

"No!" The boy was frightened enough. An image of Louis as he'd looked inside that cell flashed through Harry's mind. His skin had been paler than the snow outside, the only color streaks of black-brown dirt. He'd been trembling. When that boy trembled, it should be from pleasure, not fear.

 _Fight. Fight. Fight!_ chanted the demon again.

"Where is he now?" Josh demanded.

"None of your concern. But someone is going to pay for the state I found him in."

His friend's emerald eyes - eyes identical to his, as if the gods had been too tired to create something different - widened in surprise. "Why? What's he to you?"

"Mine," was the only answer Harry had. "He's mine."

Josh ran his tongue over his teeth. "Don't be foolish. He's Bait."

"Maybe." Probably. He stalked forward. Seething... hungry..."At the moment, I don't care."

The warrior stepped toward him, equally infuriated. "You should. And you should not have brought him here."

Harry knew that, but he wasn't going to apologize. He would do it again, if given the choice.

"Take him back to town and figure out a way to wipe his memory," Josh said. "Otherwise, he'll have to be killed. He's seen and heard too much, and we cannot allow him to report to Hunters."

They were almost upon each other. Harry hadn't armed himself this morning, a fact that saved Josh's miserable hide. He would have thrown a dagger in the man's dead, black heart had he been able. "I would rather hurt you."

The demon tattoo stretched its wings, fully awake now, and Josh grinned slowly. "We do this, and you'll have to patch up the mess."

"And you'll have to clean it."

"Like I care. We going to get started or just talk about it?"

Harry leapt.

Josh did, too. They collided in midair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All content belongs to Gena Showalter.

Punch. Grunt and duck. Punch.

Harry landed a hard blow to Josh's cheek and the man staggered to the side with another grunt. But a second later, Josh retaliated, lashing out with a strong left across his jaw. Harry's teeth rattled and blood filled his mouth, the taste metallic but sweet, quenching part of the spirit's thirst.

He was grinning as he kneed Josh in the stomach. The warrior doubled over, wheezing. _More._ He needed to inflict more damage. Before Harry could elbow him in the head, Josh bolted forward with a savage growl, wrapping his arms around Harry and tackling him to the ground. They rolled in a bid for dominance. Fists flew; knees knocked. Elbows slammed.

Harry hissed when Josh caught him in the mouth again. He lost his smile, the inside of his cheek split. Another trickle of blood slid down his throat.

"This what you wanted?" Josh barked.

Harry chop-blocked his friend in the throat, causing the other man to gasp and his skin to quickly color blue. "Is that what you wanted?" With Josh struggling to breathe, he threw four more punches, all in the face. Crunch. Eye socket. Crunch. Nose. Crunch. Jaw. Crunch! Temple. _No more Violence today,_ he chanted futilely with each strike. _No more Violence._

 _Are you sure?_ the spirit beguiled.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he threw another punch.

_Kill him._

"No!" he shouted, only then realizing he hadn't tamed the demon at all. Not even a little. He stilled, panting for air, not knowing what else to do. He couldn't go to Louis like this, hungry for blood and even more on edge than he'd been before.

"Oh, yes." Cut and bruised, Josh snarled low in his throat and slammed his fist into Harry's right eye. Pain exploded in his head as the man's rings nicked a vein. His vision was momentarily blackened. Something warm and wet gushed down the slope of his face and finally, finally, the sadistic voice quieted.

Perhaps he needed the spirit beaten into submission. Happy to oblige, he splayed his arms wide, welcoming the next blow.

Josh did not disappoint. The warrior kicked him in the stomach and Harry sailed backward. The moment he hit the ground, Josh was on top of him, strangling him, knees pinning his shoulders. Satisfaction blanketed the man's face, but there were demons in his eyes, ugly demons, tormenting demons, so much more menacing than the tattoo on his neck. No doubt, Wrath was counting off all the evil deeds Harry had ever committed. The list would be a long one.

"Want more?" Josh snarled.

"More."

Punch. Harry's head flew to the left. Punch. His head flew to the right. Punch. The cartilage in his nose cracked.

 _Hit me. Harder! Harder!_ With every blow, the spirit slunk deeper and deeper. Wrath against Violence, he mused, and Violence was basking in his destruction. The thought of vanquishing Violence was almost a sexual high. He smiled, thinking this must be how Zayn felt. Happy in pain, desperate for more.

His teeth sliced into his tongue as another blow was delivered. His tongue swelled. _Now I won't be able to kiss Louis,_ he thought.

 _You don't need to kiss him to fuck him,_ the demon lashed out, rearing its ugly head just long enough to send a lance of fury through him.

Enough! He wanted to kiss Louis. Wanted him taste in his mouth as he writhed against him. And he would have it. That's all he had thought about while sucking back flames during the endless night.

Another punch.

"Josh! What are you doing?" Harry heard Liam demand from across the hall.

"Giving Harry what he needs." Punch.

"Stop."

"No." The next blow sank deeper and harder into his temple, rattling his brain.

"Don't stop," Harry said as Josh backhanded him. A little more and the spirit might stay hidden for the rest of the day.

"Stop," Liam repeated. "Now. Or tonight I'll take you into hell with Harry."

The punches instantly ceased. It was a threat Liam could easily uphold.

Josh was panting; Harry was, too. He almost reached out, grabbed Josh's wrist and forced the man to start again. He wanted, needed, more. He would take no chances. If he had to be beaten until he was too weak to do anything but crawl, he would let himself be beaten.

He would not hurt Louis.

Not yet, at least.

Reluctantly Josh pushed to his feet and offered Harry a helping hand. He accepted with the same reluctance and was quickly hefted to a stand. Together, he and Josh faced Liam.

There was no emotion in Liam's eyes as he perused them. Harry worked a hand over his battered face, finding cuts that would have needed stitching were he human.

"Does someone want to tell me what was going on?"

"We were trying a new sparring technique," Harry said through swollen lips. For once the spirit remained quiet. He almost felt normal. The realization was so wonderfully stunning, he grinned.

"That's right. New sparring technique." Josh slung an arm over his shoulder. One of his eyes was sealed shut and his lower lip was shredded.

Within the hour, Harry knew, both of them would be totally mended. Immortality had its advantages.

Would Violence return when his body healed?

Liam opened his mouth to respond, but Harry held up one bruised palm. "I will hear no complaints from you. You left Louis in the dungeon. You should thank the gods I'm not going for your throat."

"We did what was needed to make him more acquiescent," Liam said, and there was not an apology in his tone.

Harry stiffened, anger washing through him. A remarkably ordinary anger, though. One that didn't compel him to do terrible deeds. Miraculous. "I asked you for two things. Only two: You failed on both counts."

"You asked that he remain alive and you asked that he remain untouched. He is both of those things," Liam pointed out.

True, but he'd been scared and cold, and for some reason that knowledge cut him deeper than Josh's fists. He was just so small, so delicate. "I could not see to his needs. You should have." He had always hated that he lost all ties to reality when midnight struck. He hated that he didn't know what happened here during those twilight hours, hated that he could not protect himself or those close to him.

For all he knew, the fortress could be attacked by Hunters, burned to the ground, everyone inside slaughtered. Louis could betray him, leading those Hunters inside. But Louis could also be beaten. Louis could be ravaged or killed, and he would not know.

"Listen, right now your boy doesn't matter," Liam said. "Much has happened since your latest death. The - "

A growl vibrated in his throat, his head, his ears, drowning out the warrior's voice. Doesn't matter? "If he becomes sick..." The edges of his anger morphed into razor-sharp points, prodding at the spirit. Not subdued completely after all, he realized with an inward curse, even as his body tightened, gearing for war.

A dangerous haze shuttered over his eyes; his own, all his own, but the demon liked it. _Kill him._ _He means to take what is ours._ Yes, he needed to kill. His blood heated to a boil. His skin stretched over his bones.

"He's not listening," Josh said to Liam. A muscle ticked below the man's eye, and he gave Harry a rough shake before severing contact between them. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Harry gritted out.

"Just how long do you plan to keep the boy here?"

 _As long as possible,_ his mind answered of its own accord.

 _As long as needed,_ he corrected.

Keeping him in the fortress was dangerous. For Louis. For him. For the other Lords. He knew that, but he wasn't going to set him free. He had neither the will nor the desire. Nothing was more important than discovering the delights his body promised. Nothing. Would he be hot and tight around him? Would he purr his name? Beg for more?

Suddenly a fist connected with his nose, whipping his head to the side. Pain exploded in his temple, loosening fury's grip. Arousal’s, too. Harry blinked in confusion and frowned over at Josh. "Why did you do that?"

"Your face was not your own, but Violence's." Liam shook his head, suddenly in front of him, his expression weary. "You were about to erupt."

"Get yourself under control, man." Josh expelled an exasperated sigh. "You're like the Sword of Damocles, ready to drop at any moment and slice us all."

"That's funny coming from you," Harry said dryly. He might charge swiftly into seemingly unprovoked bouts of violence, but Josh had been known to charge into rampages, too, spreading his vengeance as far and wide as possible.

"Where's the boy now?" Liam asked.

At first, Harry did not answer. He didn't want them to know, for they might go to him. "My room," he finally said, his tone so dark they couldn't mistake his unspoken warning: Visit him and feel the sting of my demon.

"You left him alone in your room?" Josh's exasperation reached a new high, and he threw his arms in the air. "Why don't you give him a knife, tell us to line up and let him stab us one by one?"

"I locked him in. He cannot cause trouble."

"He might have picked the lock." Liam massaged the back of his neck. "He could be sneaking Hunters inside this very second."

"No. I killed them."

"There could be more."

Liam was right. Harry knew Liam was right. He ground his teeth together, and his battered jaw ached in protest. "I will check and make sure he is where I left him and alone." He spun on his heel.

"I'm coming with you." Determined, Josh flanked him.

Liam followed suit.

Harry kicked into motion. If Louis had escaped, had brought Hunters into their midst, the warriors would demand the boy’s head.

Harry wasn't sure he could give it to them, no matter his crimes. In fact, every cell in his body shouted with the need to protect him. _Me? A protector?_ His blood heated with it, burned.

When - if - the time came, would he be able to do what was necessary? Harry didn't know the answer. He liked to think he would, but...

They rounded a corner, and their steps harmonized into a hard battle drum. Thump. Thump, thump, thump. Thump. From the corner of his eye, he saw Josh shake his arms at his sides. Two small blades fell into his waiting hands.

The man hadn't lost himself to the demon during their fight, after all, Harry realized. Otherwise, Harry would be in tatters right now, his skin nothing more than a fond memory.

He experienced a twinge of guilt. Had Josh fought him only to help him?

"No one touches the boy," he said, his guilt increasing. He should be more loyal to his friends. "No matter what we find, he is mine. Understood? I'll deal with him myself."

There was a pregnant pause as each man weighed his response.

"Fine," Liam said on a sigh.

Still Josh remained silent.

"It's my room. I can go in alone and leave you out here to - "

"Fine," Josh finally snapped. "He's yours. Not that you'll do what you should. Hunters, though, will be executed on sight."

"Agreed." On both counts.

"What has he done to command such loyalty from you?" Liam asked, genuine curiosity rather than snide disgust in his tone.

Harry didn't have an answer. Didn't even want to think about it. He deserved disgust, though. That, he couldn't deny.

"I think our friend's forgotten that sex is sex." Josh twirled one of the blades with menacing flare. "Who's offering it doesn't matter. This boy is nothing special. None of them are."

Suddenly caught in another dark web of anger, all hint of guilt overshadowed, Harry shot out his leg, tripping Josh and jumping on top of him before the man even hit the ground. He used the warrior's surprise to his advantage, swiping one of the knives and holding the tip at Josh's throat.

But, having realized what was happening midway into his fall, Josh had the other blade poised at Harry's throat at the same time. Harry felt the apex sink past skin, nicking a tendon, but he did not back down.

"Do you want to die?"

Undaunted, Josh arched a pierced black brow. "Do you?"

"Let him go, Harry," Liam said, the calm eye of the storm.

He pushed the weapon deeper, his gaze never leaving Josh's. Fire sizzled and crackled between them. "Do not talk about him like that."

"I'll talk however I please."

He scowled. _I like this man. I admire him. He's killed for me, and I for him._ Yet he knew, deep down, that if Louis were mentioned in such a derogatory manner again, he would snap. The speaker didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the boy. He hated that fact. He didn't understand it, but was helpless against it.

"For whatever reason," Liam said, "the boy is a trigger. Tell him you won't talk about him again, Josh."

"Why should I?" was the grumbled reply. "Last time I checked, I had a right to voice my opinions."

Deep breath in, deep breath out. That didn't help. Harry could feel himself gearing for another attack. _Damn it! I have to get myself under control._ This was utterly ridiculous and wholly embarrassing. He'd never had less influence over his own actions.

"Josh, you have to be tired of cleaning blood off the floors," Liam said. "Think how much there will be if Hunters are even now trying to invade our home and we do not stop them from getting inside. Tell him."

Josh hesitated only a moment before removing the knife from Harry's neck. "Fine," he spat. "No talk of the boy. Happy now?"

Yes. Harry relaxed instantly and eased to his feet. He even held out his empty hand to help Josh stand, but Josh brushed him aside and stood on his own. Niall had once called Harry "The Mood Swing"; he had been joking at the time, but Harry was starting to believe the truth of his words.

"I'm not going to say it, but you know what I'm thinking, right?" Josh asked dryly.

Yes. He knew. He was as bad as Niall - if not worse.

"Children," Liam muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Daddy," Josh replied, but there was no heat in his tone.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating, trying to make himself believe. Louis is just a boy. He means nothing but temporary satisfaction. The shadows and pain he'd glimpsed in his eyes meant nothing. They would not soften him, much less bewitch him. Not anymore. He had to start thinking of him as he did the others.

Any more of this absurd fighting, and he would have to dig his dignity out of the garbage.

Hell, maybe the gods had finally decided to chastise him and had sent Louis to drive him crazy, to cause him pain and suffering. To punish him. Maybe he was no longer to yearn for eternal death at night. Maybe he was to yearn for eternal death all day long.

"Good?" Liam asked.

Not even close. He might be calm now, but he was worse off than ever. Still, he nodded and stalked down the hallway without another word, up the stairs and into his wing of the fortress. Better to get this over with.

When Liam and Josh once again flanked him, Josh said, "My blade."

"It's nice," he replied, purposely misunderstanding. He did not return it.

Josh snorted. "I didn't realize you were hard up for a weapon."

"If you want to keep yours, take better care."

"The same could be said of your head."

Harry offered no response. The closer he came to his bedroom, the more he could smell Louis's honey scent. A scent that was all his own. Not from soap or perfume, but from him. Harry’s body hardened painfully, his cock filling with heat and need. He'd been waiting for a sip of that honey forever, it seemed. _He's just like other humans, remember? Nothing special,_ he reminded himself.

He flicked a glance at his companions. They appeared oblivious to the sweet fragrance in the air. Good. He wanted Louis, all of him, to himself. _Nothing special, damn you._

When they reached the threshold, each of them paused. Josh tensed and readied his remaining blade. A hard mask covered his face, as if he were preparing himself to do whatever was necessary. Liam, too, produced a weapon - a .45, cocked and ready.

"Look before you attack," Harry said through clenched teeth.

They nodded, neither sparing him a glance.

"On three. One." His ears twitched as he listened. No sound emerged from inside. Not the splash of bathwater or the gentle rattle of dishes on the tray. Had Louis really escaped? If he had...

"Two." His stomach knotted in anger and fear, and the scabs there burned. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife. He might just leave the fortress, might search the ends of the earth for him.

Nothing special indeed.

"Three." He twisted the lock and pushed open the door. Hinges creaked. All three men stormed inside, silent, prepared for anything. Harry scanned the room, taking in every detail. Floors - no footprints. Window - still closed. Platter of food - untouched. Some of his clothes had been tossed out of the closet and were now strewn around the floor.

Where was he?

Josh and Liam fanned out as he inched along the closet wall, alert, watchful. He jumped into the small space, blade raised. Found nothing.

The covers shifted on the bed and a soft, breathy moan drifted through the air.

"Weapons down," Harry commanded in a fierce whisper, blood sizzling from the sound of that delicate sigh.

Several seconds ticked by before either man obeyed. Only then did Harry approach the bed, slowly... sweating... For some reason, he was trembling like a fragile human. He suspected the image he was about to see would undo him.

He was right.

He found a sleeping beauty. Louis. Angel. Destruction.

His chestnut hair was splayed over his snow-white pillow. His lashes, two shades darker than his hair, cast spiky shadows over his dirt-smudged cheeks. He hadn't bathed, hadn't eaten. He must have tumbled to sleep soon after Harry had left.

"Pretty," Josh said, reluctant admiration in his tone.

 _Exquisite,_ Harry silently corrected. _Mine._ His lips were red and puffy, deliciously swollen. Had he chewed them from worry? He watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, found himself reaching out - don't touch, don't touch - helpless to prevent the action. But he fisted his hands just before contact. His body was once again rock hard, need simmering inside of him. A dark need, frightening in its intensity and still so much more powerful than Violence had ever been.

How did he elicit such a response from him simply by breathing?

 _Touch him._ Who wanted it? Him? The demon? Both?

Didn't matter. Just one caress, then he'd leave. He'd shower and return when he was rested - and he'd have himself under firm control by then. Surely he would.

Finally, opening his hand, his fingertips brushed the side of Louis’s cheek. A whisper-soft caress. His skin was silky smooth, electrical. He tingled on contact, his blood instantly heating another degree.

The boy’s eyelids popped open, as if he, too, had felt the jolt.

He jerked upright, hair cascading over his overhead. His sleep-rimmed eyes searched, locked with his, widened. "Harry." He scrambled backward until he was smashed against the metal headboard. Chains rattled from the sides of the bed, the chains that bound him every night. "Harry," he repeated, scared, awed... happy?

He, Liam and Josh stepped backward in unison. He knew why he moved - he'd seen his downfall in those pretty eyes the moment their gazes met - but he didn't know why the others had reacted that way.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Louis gasped out. "And what happened to your face? You're bleeding." He heard concern and it shook Harry deeply. Would he always affect him so?

The boy glanced at the others and gave a choked whimper. "It wasn't enough for you to kill him last night, you had to beat him up today, too? Get out, you... you... murderers! Get out right now!"

Louis leapt from the bed and stood in front of Harry, wobbling slightly as he held out his arms to ward them off. Protecting him? Again? Eyes wide, he met the equally astonished gazes of the others.

His actions were those of an innocent... or someone pretending to be innocent. Even so, Harry found that he wanted to touch him again. In... comfort? He shook his head. Couldn't be. Had to be pleasure. That made sense. He was a man; he desired.

But would that desire grow darker, as he feared?

He gripped they boy’s arm and pulled him behind him. He shared a confused look with Liam, then turned to face him. Before he could utter a single word, Louis rushed out, "Are you going to take me into the city now? Please."

And never see him again? "Eat," he commanded, harsher than he'd intended. "Bathe. I will return soon." To his friends, he barked, "Let's go." He stalked into the hall.

They lingered only a moment before following. After closing and locking the door, Harry leaned his forehead against the cold stone wall beside it, measuring every molecule of air he drew in and forced out of his lungs as he tried to soothe his riotous heartbeat. This has to stop.

"You've brought trouble into our midst," Josh said, remaining at his side. "And was he actually trying to protect you from us?"

"Surely not." But that was the second time he'd done so, and Harry was more confused now than before.

He straightened and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Let me go, Harry," Louis called through the door. More than it had yesterday, his voice appealed to him. Soft, lilting. Erotic. "I was wrong to come here. I was. If it will help, I'll promise not to tell anybody."

"I know I've brought trouble," he told Josh.

His friend arched a brow in that insolent expression Harry was coming to loathe. "No apology?"

That was the worst of it; he still wasn't sorry.

"Forget the boy for now," Liam said, waving a hand through the air. He squared his shoulders. "You've seen him. He is well. He doesn't appear to have let Hunters in - yet. Now we have a more pressing concern to discuss. What I tried to tell you earlier is that the gods - they are not who you think they are."

"Harry, we need to talk to you," a harsh voice called, cutting off whatever response he might have made.

Liam threw up his arms in exasperation and Harry pivoted. Zayn approached, Niall and Nick at his sides. Two were scowling, the other grinning like the madman he was.

"Your boy has to go," Zayn growled. "I smelled him all night long, and I can't stand another second of that thunderstorm scent."

Thunderstorm? Louis smelled like honey. Still, his jaw clenched at the thought of another man being so aware of him. "He stays," he said curtly.

"Who is he, why is he still here and when can I see him naked?" Niall asked with an eyebrow wiggle.

"Someone should kill him," Zayn countered.

"No one touches him!"

Josh closed his eyes and shook his head. "Here we go again."

"Unlike Zayn, I don't mind his presence," Niall said, rubbing his hands together. "I only mind your unwillingness to share. I'd like to - "

Harry shoved Niall before the man could finish the sentence. "Do not speak another word. I know what you would like to do to him, and I will die first."

Now Niall frowned, pale skin dusting with angry color. "Back off, asshole. I haven't had a human today, so I'm in no mood for this kind of bullshit."

Nick remained in the corner, watching, grin spreading. "Anyone else find this highly amusing? It's even better than listening to the brokers when stocks plummet."

Harry struggled to rein in his temper and shove Louis to the back of his mind. Where he belonged. As a human, as possible Bait, he was the last person who should rouse this sort of protective reaction in him.

Should, should, should. Argh! End this. Finally. Soon. Now.

"Enough!" Liam shouted.

Everyone quieted and stared at Liam in surprise. He was not usually a shouter.

"Were there Hunters in town?" he asked Niall and Zayn.

Zayn shook his head. "We didn't find any."

"Good. That's good. Perhaps Harry did indeed kill them all." Liam nodded in satisfaction. "But Harry doesn't know about the gods yet. We need to tell him. What's more, Josh and I... did something last night."

Instantly Josh's body went rigid. "We said we wouldn't tell them."

"I know." Liam sighed, clearly at the end of his patience. "I changed my mind."

"You cannot simply change your mind!" Josh roared, leaping in front of Liam.

"I can and I did," was the reply. Not exactly calm, but close, only edged with steel.

"What's going on?" Harry stepped between them and pushed them apart. For once, he was not the one throwing accusations and fists. "I'm ready to listen. You mentioned the gods. I know Josh was summoned. I was too distracted to ask for details before. What did they want from him?"

"Later," Nick said to Harry, but he didn't take his eyes off Liam. "What'd you do, Death?"

"Spill," Zayn commanded.

Liam's attention never wavered from Josh. "After their reaction to Louis, we need to make sure they don't accidentally stumble upon our secret. What do you think will happen if they do?"

For a long while, Josh did not reply. Tension filled the air, grave, sinister. Finally, Josh nodded. "Fine. Show them. But get ready to war, my friend, because they aren't going to be happy."

"Someone had better explain," Zayn demanded, looking between them.

"An explanation will not be good enough. I need to show you." Liam started down the hall. "This way."

Prophetic words, Harry thought. He cast a questioning glance at Nick, who had uttered something similar only last night.

Know what's going on? he mouthed.

No, was the silent reply.

Nothing good, that much he could guess. Liam had never acted this mysterious. Confused, intrigued, concerned, Harry glanced at Louis's door before following his friends.


	7. Chapter 7

Louis fell back onto the bed, struggling to control his breathing. Oh God. He'd come back. He hadn't been a dream, hallucination or mirage. Harry was alive. He'd really been locked inside a dungeon; he'd really risen from the dead. And he'd really stopped the voices.

When he'd left him in this oddly bare bedroom, he'd searched for a phone, found nothing, then searched for a way out. Again, nothing. Fatigue had quickly settled on his shoulders, nearly crushing him. He'd been unable to fight it, the silence inexorably relaxing, like a beloved drug he'd finally been able to indulge in. So he'd lain down, not caring about the consequences. He'd entertained the notion that maybe, just maybe, all of this was a delusion and when he opened his eyes, he'd find himself in his own home, his own bed.

Not so. Oh, not so.

A moment ago, a shock of thrumming power had slammed through him, dragging him kicking and screaming from the most peaceful sleep of his entire life, a sleep wrapped in that blissful silence. And then Harry had been standing over him, looking down at him with those fathomless green eyes.

His face had been, was, a mass of bruises and cuts. Black and blue and bloodied, his left eye swollen, his lip split from top to bottom. At the memory, nausea churned in his stomach. Had those monsters tried to kill him again?

Again. Ha! He laughed humorlessly. They had killed him. And two of his killers had stood at his side. He'd seemed on affable terms with them, conversing with them as if he had no reason to hate them. How could they still be friends?

He lumbered from the bed. His body creaked and ached with every movement, as if he were a doddering ninety rather than a spry twenty. He frowned. Too much stress, with no real end in sight.

The men must have wandered off, because he no longer heard them beyond the threshold. Good. He didn't want to deal with them right now. Or ever. Take care of business, then find a way out of here.

He trekked to the bathroom, awed by its surprising beauty, considering the sparseness of the bedroom and the starkness of the dungeon. Here he found white-tiled walls and a matching marble floor, a built-in chrome and black vanity overflowing with towels, a porcelain sink, a gleaming claw-foot tub with a raised nozzle - in case a giant decided to shower? he wondered, wide-eyed - and a nearly transparent curtain.

For some reason, everything was bolted down.

A tiered light hung from the ceiling, its brass arms stretching in different directions. There were no other decorations, though. No pictures or amenities. Had Harry removed them, afraid he'd try to steal them?

Louis snorted. The Institute paid him very well to listen for and learn about all things paranormal; money was not a problem. Besides, whatever he wanted, Cowell willingly gave him. And if he didn't want to ask him, he ordered from the Internet and had it delivered to his doorstep.

He blushed, thinking of some of the things he'd recently ordered. Romance novels, which had invariably led to the purchase of a pair of black lace panties, and after reading one particular book about an undercover agent and former thief, silk scarves and handcuffs. Not that he'd ever used any of them.

With a sigh, he dipped a towel into the now-cold bathwater. Leaving his clothes on, he washed himself as best he could. No way would he strip. Any of the men could return at any moment.

 _Yeah_ , _but_ _you'd_ _like_ _it_ _if_ _Harry_ _returned_.

 _No_ , he assured himself, flustered by the thought. He wouldn't. He scared him.

_He brings precious silence._

_Not anymore._ He wasn't here, yet the voices hadn't returned. His head was clear, his own thoughts all he heard. _I'm cured._

_No, you're not. You heard voices last night, in the dungeon,_

"Now I'm talking to myself," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "What's next?"

He studied his reflection in the mirror. Droplets of water dripped from his forehead to his nose, from nose to chin. His cheeks were bright with rosy color and his blue eyes gleamed. Odd. He'd never been more aware of his own mortality, but he'd also never looked more alive.

When his stomach rumbled, he recalled the tray of food Harry had left on the floor. His feet carried him to it without being ordered, kicking past the clothing he'd scattered when he'd searched the closet for a hidden phone. Black T-shirts, black pants, black briefs.

He felt a twitch between his thighs with the thought of muscled Harry in nothing but a pair of those briefs. He'd lie on the bed, hard and straining, erection peeking through the top, wickedness in his eyes as he beckoned Louis over with a crook of his finger.

And Louis would willingly go to him.

Louis nibbled on his bottom lip. Harry... on a bed... wanting him... His knees weakened, and his belly quivered. Stupid boy. Apparently, when given a little silence, all he could think about was sex.

He gathered the tray of food and tottered to the window, where he balanced the edge on the wall and popped a grape into his mouth. The sweet juice ran down his throat, and he nearly moaned before ordering himself to focus on the matter at hand - escape. He'd told Cowell, and thereby the Institute, about the men and this fortress. Cowell had even known he wanted to visit. Most likely he'd have guessed by now where he'd gone.

Would he come for him? Or would he feed him to the wolves for daring to disobey? While the man had always been kind to him, he had never tolerated mistakes from his other employees, much less willful disobedience.

 _He will come,_ he assured himself. _He needs you._

But as he stared out the window, only trees and snow greeted him. Still, he didn't let that disappoint him. He could be anywhere. Standing there, allowing anyone outside to see him, he popped another grape in his mouth and tapped on the glass. _I'm here. Do you see me?_

He needed out as soon as possible. With every second that passed, the warriors' madness seemed to take deeper hold of him. He had imagined his jailer in his underwear, for God's sake.

Hopefully, Cowell would see him, blow a hole in the front door and snatch him out. Boom. Done. Over. No, wait. Rewind. He didn't want Cowell inside the walls. He would be no match for Harry and the others. He was going to have to distract Harry, maybe knock him out somehow, and run. Out of the fortress and down the hill. The cold and the voices were better than the threat of death he'd found here.

So, just how was he going to distract the man? Mulling it over, he devoured the rest of the grapes. And when those were gone, he concentrated on the meat and cheese, sipping wine between bites. In a matter of minutes, only crumbs and half a bottle remained. Never had anything tasted so delicious. The ham had been glazed with brown sugar, a succulent feast to his taste buds. The cheese had been smooth, not too sharp, the grapes a perfect contrast. The wine, excellent.

Okay, so this place did have a few things in its favor.

Food wasn't a good enough reason to stay, though. _What about sex?_ Of course not, he thought, his stomach giving another of those strange flutters. That was -

Everything inside him went on sudden alert - the quiet before a debilitating storm. He didn't exactly hurt, but he became aware that something wasn't quite right in his body. One heartbeat passed. Two. He gulped, waiting.

Then the storm arrived.

His blood chilled to ice, yet beads of sweat that were as sharp as broken glass appeared on his skin. Crawling over every inch of him like spiders. He yelped, whimpered, tried to scratch at them. But they wouldn't go away, and now he could actually see them. They were on him. On him, their tiny legs scampering. A scream bubbled in his throat at the exact moment a wave of dizziness slammed into him, so the sound was nothing more than a groan. He had to grip the window to remain standing. The tray fell, clanging.

All too soon, the dizzying fog became an ache and the ache a piercing knife, slicing its way from his belly to his heart. He swayed, gasping and moaning at the same time. Bright lights flashed in front of his eyes, an array of blinding colors.

What was wrong with him? Poison? Oh God, were the spiders still on him?

Another pain shot through him and he doubled over. "Harry," he called, the word weak.

Nothing. No footsteps.

"Harry!" he shouted, projecting his name with all his dwindling strength. He tried to walk to the door, but couldn't force himself to move.

Again nothing.

"Harry!" Why do you want him? He might have done this to you. "Harry." He couldn't stop his name from leaving his lips. "Harry."

Black cobwebs snaked around his vision, constricting it, blanketing the too-bright rainbow. "Harry." His voice was a hoarse whisper now, a trembling entreaty.

His stomach cramped; his throat was swelling, closing off. And then, suddenly, he couldn't breathe. Every cell in his body screamed and screamed and screamed. _Need air. Need to breathe_. He fell to the floor, unable to support his own weight any longer. _Need to get the spiders off. No strength, no energy._

The bottle of wine toppled as if in sympathy, the remaining red liquid spilling around him. He lost focus completely, the world crumbling, then disappearing altogether, leaving only darkness.

 

 

Harry could not believe what he was seeing. "This is... this is... not possible." He scrubbed a callused hand over his eyes, but the sight did not change.

"Obviously, it wasn't Louis I smelled." Zayn slammed a fist into the wall. Dust puffed into the air, bits of rough stone tumbling to the floor.

Nick merely laughed.

Niall sucked in a reverent breath. "Come to papa."

There, in the far corner of Liam's bedroom, were four humans. Holding hands, they huddled together for strength and support. Each trembled in fear, gazing at the men through wide, panicked eyes.

No, Harry realized. Not all of them trembled. A pretty blonde with freckles regarded them with fury in her green eyes. Her jaw was clenched, as if she were biting her tongue to keep from shouting obscenities.

"What are they doing here?" he demanded.

"Do not take that tone," Josh snapped. "You started it with your pretty piece of Bait."

Growling low, Harry closed the distance between them. One of the humans whimpered. "I thought we had covered this," he said. "You watch what you say about him or you suffer."

Josh did not back down. "You've known him, what? A few hours? You've barely spoken to him. He should be begging for mercy right now, and we should know all his secrets and what the Hunters, if there are more out there, are planning."

"He tried to save me when I was stabbed. He tried to save me from you only a few minutes ago."

"An act."

Probably. He'd told himself that very thing, but he couldn't seem to make it matter. Not then, not now. Frustrated with himself rather than Josh, he backed down this time. He faced Liam. "Why are they here?" he asked, composed but no less disbelieving.

Or rather, as composed as he was capable of being at the moment.

Liam glanced at Josh, who motioned to the hall with a tilt of his chin. Understanding, the warriors filed out. Each hummed with expectation. Liam was the last to exit and was quick to close and lock the door.

Harry peered at his friends, most projecting the same disbelief he felt. Nothing like this had ever happened before. None of them had ever brought a human here, even Niall (that he knew of), and now there were almost as many humans on the premises as warriors. It was surreal.

"Well?" he prompted.

Josh explained how the Greeks had been overthrown by the Titans, those leaders from thousands of years ago, and that these new sovereigns wanted - no, commanded - him to execute those four innocent women. Were he to resist, he would be driven mad with bloodlust. Were he to ask to be released from the deed, he would be cursed as Harry was cursed.

Harry listened, stunned. Shock and dread washed through him, all but swimming laps in his bloodstream.

"But why would the new king of gods tell Josh to - " The answer slid into place and he pressed his lips together. _I did this,_ he realized. I'm responsible. _I dared the gods yesterday evening, insulted them, even. This had to be their way of retaliating._

He flicked Nick a dismayed glance. The warrior was staring at him with a hard glint in his green eyes. Then he turned away and flattened his gloved hands on the mirror hanging just above his head. His reflection was bleak. Only yesterday, the two of them had claimed they didn't care if the gods punished them. They'd thought nothing could be worse than their current situation.

They'd been wrong.

"We cannot allow Josh to do this deed," Liam said, interrupting Harry's dark thoughts. "He's at the breaking point already. We all are."

Zayn once again punched the wall, grunting from the force. There were angry red cuts on each of his forearms and they burst open on impact, splattering flecks of blood onto the silver stone. "These Titans had to know what would happen if Josh obeyed." He bared his teeth in a scowl. "They had to know what a precarious edge of good and evil we're all balanced on. Why would they do this?"

"I know why," Harry replied grimly.

All eyes flew to him.

Shame weighed heavily on his shoulders as he recounted what he'd done. "I never expected this to happen," he finished lamely. "I didn't know the Titans had escaped, much less that they had taken over."

"I don't even know what to say." Josh.

"I do. Fuck." Niall.

Harry's head fell back and he stared up at the ceiling. _I thought I was goading the Greeks,_ he wanted to shout. _They would have done nothing. They would have continued to ignore me._

"Do you think Louis is a punishment from the Titans, as well?" Liam asked.

His jaw clenched. "Yes." Of course he was a punishment. He'd thought so earlier - the timing of his arrival, the way he'd haunted his mind and fanned his desires - but he'd assumed the Greeks had been responsible. "The Titans must have led the Hunters straight to us, knowing they would use Louis and how he would affect me."

"You did not curse the gods until after Josh was summoned. What's more, you hadn't yet cursed them when Louis first appeared on my cameras," Nick pointed out. "They could not have known what we would later do and say."

"Couldn't they? Perhaps they didn't send him, but they must be using him somehow." Nothing else explained the intensity of his feelings for him. "I'll take care of him," he added darkly, but every muscle in his body stiffened, begging him to snatch the words back. He didn't. "I'll take care of all of them."

Niall leveled him with a frown. "How?"

Grim, he said, "I'll kill them." He'd done worse. Why not add this to the list? _Because I am not a beast._ If he did it, he would be Violence. He would be no better than the spirit inside him, reduced to only one reason for existence: causing pain.

Yet he'd brought this plague upon their house; he needed to fix it. Could he destroy Louis, though? He found he didn't want to know the answer.

"You can't kill the four inside Liam's room," Josh said, just as grim. "The Titans commanded me to do it. Who knows how they'll react if their orders are not followed exactly."

"I can hear you, you sick bastards," a female voice cried from behind the door. "You kill us, and I swear to God I'll kill every one of you."

There was another temporary halt to movement and speech.

Zayn's lips curled in a wry grin. "An impossible feat, but I would almost like to see her try."

Feminine fists beat against the frame. "Let us go! Let us go, do you hear me?"

"We hear you, woman," Zayn said. "I'm sure the dead hear you, as well."

That Zayn, the most serious of the bunch, had cracked a joke was disturbing. Only when circumstances were dire did he resort to humor.

This was a nightmare. After centuries of rigid routine, Harry suddenly had a boy to interrogate, then destroy before he could be further used against him. He had a friend to save from an unthinkable command. And he had gods to appease. Gods he wasn't even sure how to approach.

These Titans were unknown entities. If he asked for mercy and they ordered him to do something vile - something he refused to do - the situation would most assuredly become worse than it was now.

"Why don't I touch them?" Nick suggested, turning back to the group. His eyes were as bright. "If they die of disease, no one will have to worry about his conscience." Except Nick.

"No," Josh said at the same moment Niall shouted, "Hell, no."

"No disease," Liam agreed. "Once it starts, it's impossible to control."

"We'll keep the bodies contained," Nick said, his determination clear.

Liam let out another sigh. "That won't work, and you know it. Disease always spreads."

"Disease!" the girl cried. "You're going to infect us with a disease? Is that why you brought us here? You disgusting, loathsome, rotten pieces of - "

"Hush," another female voice commanded. "Don't incite them, Perrie."

"But, Grandma, they - "

Their voices trailed off. The girl was probably being dragged away from the door. Harry liked her courage. It reminded him of Louis, how he had stood up to him in the cell and demanded he lift his shirt. He had wanted to run - the desire had shone brightly in his eyes - but he hadn't. Just the memory caused his blood to heat and his body to harden. He had even stroked his wound, sparking something to life inside him. Something he hadn't understood.

Tenderness, perhaps?

He shook his head in denial. He would fight that emotion until his last breath - which should take place in about thirteen hours, he thought wryly. He did not, would not, have tenderness for Bait, or a divine punishment, or whatever he was.

Proof - next time he saw him, he would take him hard and fast, pounding...pounding... Louis would moan and scream his name. His thighs would tighten around his waist and - No, no. Of its own accord, the image realigned in his head, shifting to please Violence.

He would be on his stomach, braced on his hands and knees. That lovely hair would softly frame his face and he would grab hold of it, tugging. His neck would arch; his lips would part on a gasp of pleasure and pain. In and out he would pound, his sheath hot and wet. Tight. Yes, he would be tighter than a fist. His testicles would slap at the curve of his ass.

_When I finally have Louis in my bed, I'm going to be gentle. Remember?_

That thought was ignored. He would beg for more, and Harry would give it to him. He would -

"This is becoming tiresome." Josh pushed him, hard, slamming him into the wall. "You're panting and sweating and your eyes are starting to glow with red fire. About to erupt, Violence?"

The image of Louis, naked and aroused, vanished - and that infuriated the spirit, who attempted to jump through Harry's skin and attack. Harry found himself snarling, too, craving another glimpse of him in his mind.

"Calm down, Harry." Liam's serene voice penetrated the haze. "Keep this up and we'll be forced to chain you. Who will protect Louis then, hmm?"

His blood chilled, sobering him. They would do it, he knew they would, and chains he could not allow. Not during the day. At night, yes. He was a menace then and there was no other way. _I'm a menace now._ But if he were bound now, when he was barely hanging on to his sense of self, he might as well admit defeat and stop trying to be anything other than a demon.

All of the men were staring at him, he noticed.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled. Something was very wrong with him. This hair-trigger dance with the spirit was utterly ridiculous. Worse, it was embarrassing. They usually fought each other, but not like this.

Maybe he needed more time in the gym. Or another round with Josh.

"Good?" Liam asked him. How many times would he be forced to ask that today?

Harry gave a stiff nod.

Liam braced his arms behind his back and regarded each man. "Since that's settled, let's discuss the reason I brought you here."

"Let's discuss the reason you brought the humans here," Niall interjected, "rather than leaving them in the city. Yeah, Josh has a job to do, but that doesn't explain - "

"The humans are here because we didn't want them leaving Buda, perhaps compelling Josh to follow," Liam said, cutting him off. "And I wanted you to see them so that you wouldn't kill them if you caught them wandering around the fortress. If they manage to get loose, just bring them back to my room and lock them inside. Don't talk to them, don't hurt them. Until we figure out how to free Josh from this deed, the humans are our unwilling guests. Agreed?"

One by one, the men nodded. What else could they do?

"For now, leave them to me and relax. Rest. Go about your day. You'll be needed soon enough, I'm sure."

"I, for one, plan to drink myself into oblivion." Josh scoured a hand down his face. "Humans in the house," he muttered, adding as he stalked away, "Why don't we invite the whole city over for a party?"

"A party would be fun," Nick said, once again amused. "Might help me forget all this hive-inducing male bonding." And then he, too, was off.

Zayn didn't say a word. Just unsheathed a blade and stomped down the hall, leaving no doubt about what he planned to do. Harry would have offered to cut him, to whip him or beat him and spare Zayn the agony of self-infliction, but he'd offered before and always the answer was an abrupt no.

He could understand Zayn's need to do it on his own. Being a burden was almost as bad as being possessed. They all had their demons - literally - and Zayn didn't want to make it worse for any of them.

At the moment, though, Harry might have welcomed the distraction.

"I'll see you losers later," Niall said. "I'm going back to the city." Fine lines of strain bracketed his eyes - eyes that were now a dull blue rather than bright with satisfaction. "I didn't have anyone last night or this morning. All this - " he waved a hand toward the door " - has fucked with my schedule. And not in a good way."

"Go," Liam told him.

The warrior hesitated and glanced toward the door. He licked his lips. "Unless, of course, you'd allow me inside your bedroom..."

"Go." Liam gestured impatiently.

"Their loss." Niall shrugged and disappeared around the corner.

Harry knew he should offer to guard the humans. After all, he was probably the reason they were here. But he needed to see Louis. No, not needed. Wanted. Better. He did not need anything. Especially a human with questionable motives who was already marked for death.

But not knowing what these Titans would do next, he realized he did not want to waste another moment. He would go to Louis even though he hadn't completely subdued the demon. Besides, he might never be calm when it came to that boy. And it was better to do what he wanted with him now, before he was forced to - he could not even bring himself to think it.

"Liam," he began.

"Go," his friend said again. "Do whatever you need to do to get yourself under control. Your boy - "

"Louis is not up for discussion," Harry responded, already knowing what Liam meant to say. _Your boy needs to be taken care of as soon as possible._ He knew that, too.

"Just get him out of your system, then do what needs doing so that at least part of our lives can return to normal."

Harry nodded and turned, part of him wondering if his normal life was worth returning to.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content belongs to Gena Showalter.

Harry stepped into his bedroom, unsure of what he'd find. A sleeping Louis? A freshly bathed, naked Louis? A ready-to-fight Louis?

A ready-for-pleasure Louis?

To his irritation, his heart drummed erratically inside his chest. His palms were sweating. _Fool,_ he chastised himself. He was not a human, a servant to fear, nor was he inexperienced. And yet, he wasn't exactly sure how to handle this boy, this... punishment.

What he didn't expect to find was an unconscious Louis, sprawled on the floor, a puddle of crimson - blood? - around him, soaking his hair and clothes.

Darkness shuddered through him. "Louis?" He was at his side in the next instant, crouching down, gently rolling him over and scooping him into his arms. Wine, only wine. Thank the gods. Droplets splashed the small boy’s too-pale face and dripped onto him. He almost smiled. Just how much had he drunk?

He weighed so little he would have been unaware he held him if not for the low-voltage tingles seeping from Louis’s skin into his. "Louis, wake up."

He didn't. In fact, he seemed to slip deeper into unconsciousness, the movement behind his eyelids ceasing.

His throat was tight, and he had to force the next words out. "Wake up for me."

Not a moan, not a sigh.

Worried by the lack of response, he carried him to the bed, ripping off his wet jacket in the process and tossing it aside. Though he didn't want to release him, he laid Louis on the mattress and cupped his face in his hands. His skin was ice-cold. "Louis."

Still no response.

Was he... No. No! Lead balls settled in Harry’s stomach as he flattened his palm over Louis’s left pectoral. At first he felt nothing. No gentle beat, no hard slam. He nearly belted out a curse to the heavens. Then, suddenly, there was a weak patter. A long pause. Another feeble patter-patter.

He was alive.

Harry’s eyes closed briefly, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Louis." He gently shook him. "Come on, beauty. Wake up." What in the name of Zeus was wrong with him? He didn't have any experience with inebriated mortals, but he did not think this right.

His head lolled to the side; his eyelids remained closed. His lips were tinted a pretty but unnatural blue. Sweat trickled down his temples. He was not simply inebriated. Had the night in that cell sickened him? No, there would have been signs before now. Had Nick inadvertently touched him? Surely not. He wasn't coughing or covered in pockmarks. What, then?

"Louis." _I can't lose him. Not yet._ He hadn't gotten enough of him, hadn't touched him as he'd dreamed, hadn't talked to him. He blinked in surprise. He wanted to talk with him, he suddenly realized. Not just sate himself inside his body. Not just interrogate him. But talk. Get to know him and find out what made him the boy he was.

All thoughts of killing him vanished; thoughts of saving him took their place, strong, undeniable.

"Louis. Speak to me." He shook him again, helpless, not knowing what else to do. Cold continued to radiate from him, as if he'd been bathed in frost and dried in an arctic wind. He gripped the covers, pulled them up and tunneled them around him, trying to envelop him in warmth. "Louis. Please."

Even as he watched, bruises formed under his eyes. Was this to be his punishment instead? Watching him die slowly and painfully?

The sensation of helplessness intensified. As strong as he was, he couldn't force him to respond. "Louis." This time his name was a hoarse entreaty. He shook him yet again, hard enough to rattle his soul. _"Louis."_

Damn this. Still nothing.

"Liam!" he roared, gaze never leaving Louis. "Josh!" As far away as he was from them, he doubted they could hear. "Help me!" Had Louis called for help? Bending down, Harry meshed his mouth against his, trying to breathe his strength into him. Warmth... tingles...

Blue-tinted lips parted and he moaned. Finally. Another sign of life. Harry almost howled in relief. "Talk to me, beauty." He smoothed the wet hair from his face, disconcerted to find his own hands trembling. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Harry," Louis rasped. Still his eyes remained closed.

"I'm here. Tell me how to help you. Tell me what you need."

"Kill them. Kill the spiders." he spoke so quietly, Harry struggled to hear.

He brushed his fingers over the small mortal’s cheek as he glanced around the room. "There are no spiders, beauty."

"Please." A crystal tear squeezed past his lid. "Won't stop crawling on me."

"Yes, yes, I'll kill them." Though he didn't understand, he continued to trail his hands over his face, then his neck, then down his arms, stomach and legs. "They're dead now. They're dead. I promise."

That seemed to relax him a little. "Food, wine. Poison?"

He paled, felt the color leach from his face until he was likely as white as Louis. He hadn't thought...hadn't considered... The wine had been made for them, the warriors, not for humans. Since human alcohol did little for them, Niall often mixed in droplets of ambrosia he'd stolen from the heavens and hoarded all these years. Was the ambrosia like a poison to humans?

 _I did this to him._ Harry thought, horrified. _Me. Not the gods._ "Argh!" He slammed his fist into the metal headboard, felt his knuckles crack further and fill with blood. Unappeased, he punched the headboard again. The bed rattled and Louis moaned in pain.

 _Stop; don't hurt him._ He forced himself to still, to breathe slowly, all the while willing himself to calm for the thousandth time that day. But the urge to brutalize was so dark, so bleak. So intense, it was nearly uncontrollable. Except for that brief time following his fight with Josh, he'd been on edge all day and this only pushed him further. Any moment he might cross the threshold and cause irreparable harm.

"Tell me how to help you," he repeated.

"D-doctor."

A human healer. Yes, yes. He'd have to take him into the city, for none of the Lords had any medical training. There had never been a need for it. What if this doctor wanted to keep him overnight? He shook his head. That, he couldn't allow. He could tell the Hunters what he'd learned here, what he'd seen - how best to defeat the warriors. What bothered him most, however, was the fear that someone could take him, hurt him, and he would not be able to save him.

He would have to bring a doctor here.

Harry brushed another soft kiss on Louis’s cold, cold lips. Again there was a jolt - this one more muted than the last, as weak as Louis himself. His hands curled into fists. "I'll find you a doctor, beauty, and bring him to the fortress."

He moaned, and his long lashes finally fluttered open. Cerulean pools of pain stared up at him. "Harry."

"I won't be long, I swear it."

"Don't...go." he sounded on the verge of tears. "Hurts. Hurts so bad. Stay."

The need to give in and the need to fetch help warred inside him. In the end, he could not deny his boy. He strode to the door and shouted, "Niall! Josh! Zayn!" The sound of his voice echoed off the walls. "Liam! Nick!"

He didn't wait for them, but stalked back to the bed. He intertwined his fingers with Louis's. His were limp. "What can I do to ease your pain?"

"Don't let go." he gasped out a shallow breath. Red striations streamed from the corners of his mouth. Was the poison spreading?

"I won't. I won't." More than anything, he wanted to draw the pain away from him and into himself. What was a little more suffering to him? Nothing. But he was... what? He didn't have an answer for that.

Groaning, Louis clutched his stomach, rolled to his side and curled into a ball. Harry used his free hand to brush his hair behind his still-damp ear. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Don't know." he watched him, expression glassy. "Going to... die?"

"No!" He hadn't meant to shout, but the denial had escaped on a burst. "No," he repeated more softly. "This is my fault and I won't let you."

"On purpose?"

"Never."

"Why then?" he breathed. Groaned again.

"Accident," Harry said. "That wine wasn't meant for your kind."

Whether Louis heard him or not, he gave no indication. "Going to - " he gagged, covered his mouth with his small hand " - vomit."

The warrior grabbed the empty fruit bowl and held it out. Louis pushed himself to the edge of the bed and emptied his stomach. Was purging himself good or bad?

Louis fell back onto the mattress just as Zayn and Niall raced into the room. Both men looked confused. "What?" Zayn demanded.

"What's wrong?" Niall asked. He was sweating, the lines of strain deeper around his eyes.

Zayn's arms were bleeding again, his hand swollen, and he held two blades, clearly ready for battle. His gaze took in the scene and his confusion intensified. "Need help with the death-blow?"

"No! The wine... the ambrosia Niall puts in it. I left it for him." The confession spilled from him, dripping with guilt and desolation. "Save him."

Niall wobbled, but managed to remain upright. "I don't know how."

"You must! You've spent countless hours with humans!" Harry barely leashed a deafening roar. "Tell me how to help him."

"I wish I could." He mopped his moist brow with the back of his hand. "I've never shared our wine with others. It's ours."

"Go and ask the other humans if they know what to do. If they don't, tell Liam to flash into the city and find a doctor to bring here." Death was the only one of the warriors who could move from one place to another with a single thought.

Zayn nodded and spun on his heel.

Niall said, "I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm at my limit. I need sex. I heard your call from the front door and came here instead of leaving. Shouldn't have. If I don't get into the city soon I'll..."

"I understand."

"Make it up to you later." Niall stumbled out and disappeared around the corner.

"Harry." Louis moaned again. Sweat trickled from his temples. His skin was still laced with blue, but was now so pallid he could see the tiny azure veins that swam underneath. "Tell me... a story. Something... mind off... pain." he closed his eyes, those lashes casting shadows on his cheeks again.

"Relax, beauty. You should not be talking." He raced to the bathroom, emptied and cleaned the bowl and swiped a towel. He wet it down and returned, setting the bowl beside the bed - just in case. Louis’s eyes were still closed. He thought he might have fallen asleep, but the boy tensed as he bathed his face. He settled behind him, unsure of what to say.

"Why did...friends stab you?"

He didn't discuss his curse, not even with the very men who suffered alongside him. He should not discuss it with Louis. Anyone but him, in fact, but that didn't stop him. Looking at him, seeing him grimace from pain, he would have done anything to distract him. "They stab me because they must. Like me, they are damned."

"That... explains nothing."

"That explains everything."

Several minutes ticked by in silence. The blue eyed boy began squirming, as if preparing for another round with the bowl. Harry had made him ill; he owed him anything he desired. He opened his mouth and let the tale of his life spill from him. "Here is a story for you. I am immortal, and I've walked the earth since the beginning of time, it seems."

As he spoke, Louis felt his muscles loosen their vise-grip on his bones. "Immortal," he echoed as if tasting the word. "Knew you were more than human."

"I was never a human. I was created a warrior, meant to guard the king of gods. For many years, I served him well, helping to keep him in power, protecting him even from his own family. But he did not think me strong enough to guard his most precious possession, a box formed from the bones of the dead goddess of oppression. No, he commanded another to do it. She was known as the greatest female warrior, true, but my pride was stung." Thankfully, Louis remained relaxed. "Thinking to prove a mistake had been made, I helped release the demons inside upon the world. And in punishment, I was bonded to one." Harry wound his arm around Louis’s waist and gently rubbed his tummy, hoping the action would soothe him.

He expelled a slight breath. Of relief? He hoped. "Demon. I suspected."

Yes, he had. Harry still didn't understand why he admitted it so readily.

"But you're good. Sometimes," Louis added. "That's why your face changes?"

"Yes." He thought him good?

Filled with pleasure, Harry continued his story. "I knew the moment I had been breached, for there was a shock inside me, as if parts of me were dying, making room for something else, something stronger than myself." It had been the first time he had ever understood the concept of death - and little had he known just how intimately he would soon come to understand it.

Another delicate sigh escaped Louis. If he actually understood what Harry was saying now, he couldn't tell. At least he wasn't crying, wasn't writhing in pain.

"For a while, I lost touch with my own will and the demon had total control of me, forcing me to do - " All manner of evils, he mentally finished, visions of blood and death, smoke and ash and utter desolation filling his mind. He could barely tolerate the knowledge himself and would not taint Louis with it.

To the very second, he recalled how the spirit's hold on him loosened, like a dream-haze clearing, the black smoke in his mind wafting away in a sweetly scented morning breeze, leaving behind only its hated memory.

The demon had compelled him to kill Pandora, the guardian it hated above all else. Bloodlust at last appeased, it had receded to the back of Harry's mind, leaving Harry to deal with the damage.

"Gods, to go back," he said on a sigh. "To walk away from that box."

"Box," Louis said, startling him. "Demons... I've heard something about that." he opened his mouth to say more, then jerked. Crying out, he reached blindly for the bowl.

Harry moved faster than he ever had before, leaping from the bed and swiping the bowl in seconds. The moment he held it out, Louis leaned over and retched. Harry cocooned him against his stomach through the worst of it, cooing to him like he'd never done to another. Giving comfort was new to him, and he prayed he did it correctly. He'd never even comforted his friends. They were all as private about their torment as he was.

When Louis finished, Harry settled him back on the mattress and once more cleaned the boy’s face. Then he turned his gaze to the ceiling. "I am sorry for the way I spoke of you," he whispered to the heavens. "But please do not harm him for my sins."

Peering back down at Louis, he felt as if an eternity had passed since he'd first met him, as if he'd known him forever and he had always been a part of his life. A life that would collapse into nothingness if he were taken from him. How was that possible? Only an hour before, he had convinced himself that he might be able to slay him. Now...

"Let him live," he found himself adding, "and I'll do anything you want."

 _Anything?_ a quiet voice asked, relish in the undertones. Not the voice of Violence, he realized, nor any voice he had heard before.

Harry blinked, stilled. A moment passed before his shock settled into mere confusion. "Who's there?"

Startled by his outburst, Louis dragged his red-rimmed eyes to him. "I am," he croaked.

"Pay no attention to me, beauty. Sleep," he said softly.

_Who do you think I am, warrior? Can you not guess who has the power to speak to you thus?_

Another shocked moment passed before the answer took root. Could it be? A...Titan? He had sent pleas to the Greeks for years, and never had he been addressed within seconds. He'd never been addressed at all. And hadn't the Titans called Josh to the heavens like this, with only a voice?

Hope - and dread - unfurled inside him. If these Titans were benevolent, if they would help, Harry thought perhaps he would do anything. If they were malicious, however, and made things worse... His hands clenched.

They'd ordered Josh to kill four innocent humans; they could not be good. Damn this! How should he now interact with this being? Humbly? Or would that be seen as weakness?

 _Anything?_ the voice insisted. There was a disembodied laugh. _Think carefully before you answer, and know that your boy could very well die._

Harry glanced at Louis's trembling body, his pain-contorted features, and remembered the way he'd been. The way he'd looked at him with ecstasy and asked him to savor the silence with him. The way he'd stood in front of him and thanked him for food. The way he'd leapt to guard him from his own friends.

Until then - now - no one had needed him. That he did brought a heady rush and deepened his awareness of him. _I cannot let him suffer like this,_ he thought.

He would have to take a chance on the Titans. Whatever they truly wanted from the warriors here, whatever their purpose, and whether or not they were indeed using the Hunters and Louis to punish him for his lack of respect, he would take a chance.

He suppressed a curse, suspecting he was going to suffer as he'd never suffered before. But that didn't change his answer. "Anything."

 

Zayn was panting as he raced toward Liam's room. He had lost a lot of blood these past few days. More so than usual. But then, the need for pain, that terrible, beautiful pain, had ridden him harder than ever lately.

He did not know why and could not stop it. He could no longer control it, really. The last few days, he had stopped trying. What the spirit of Pain wanted, the spirit of Pain received. Now, with every day that passed, he lost a little more of his desire to control it. A part of him wanted to embrace it, to finally lose himself. To experience the numb nothingness every flicker of suffering brought.

That was not the way it had always been. For a time, he had learned to live with the demon, to coexist somewhat peacefully. Now...

He rounded a corner, mottled shards of light seeping through the side window and blurring his vision. He didn't slow. He'd never seen Harry so torn and frightened. So vulnerable. And over a human, a stranger. Bait. Zayn did not like it, but he counted Harry as a friend and would help in whatever way he could.

He would help even though he desperately wanted things back to normal, where Harry raged and died at night, then acted as if he hadn't a care the next morning. Because when Harry pretended that everything was all right, it was easier for Zayn to pretend, too.

Those thoughts skidded to a halt as Liam came into view.

He was seated on the floor, knees bent and head resting in his upraised hands. His hair was in spikes, as if he'd tangled his fingers through it too many times to count. He appeared dejected, pushed past his limits. Zayn swallowed a hard lump.

If the situation could rock the normally stoic Liam...

The closer he came, the more the scent of roses thickened the air. Death always smelled like flowers, poor bastard. "Liam," he called.

Liam gave no reaction.

"Liam."

Again, no response.

Zayn reached him, leaned down and cupped his shoulder, then gave a shake. Nothing. He crouched and waved a hand in front of the warrior's eyes. Nothing. Liam's gaze was vacant, his mouth immobile. Understanding dawned. Rather than physically leaving the fortress as he usually did, flashing from one location to another in seconds, Liam had left spiritually.

That was something he rarely did, because it left his body vulnerable to attack. Most likely he'd wanted something, even an unresponsive form, guarding his bedroom door while he was out collecting souls.

_I'm on my own, then. Only one thing left to try._

Standing, Zayn gripped the doorknob to his friend's room, unlocked it and burst inside.

All four humans were seated on the bed, heads bent together, whispering, but they lapsed into silence the moment they spotted him. Each of them paled. One of them gasped. The youngest, a pretty little blonde, stood to obviously shaky legs and assumed a warrior stance meant to block him from her family. She raised her chin, eyes daring him to approach.

His body hardened. His body hardened every time he was near her. Last night, he'd even smelled her. Sweet powder and thunderstorms. He'd spent hours sweating, panting and so aroused he'd considered fighting Harry for Louis, thinking it was he who had reduced him to such a state.

This girl was pleasure and heaven, a feast to his castigated senses. There were no scars on her, no signs of hard living. Only flawless, sun-kissed skin and bright blue eyes. Only a full red mouth made for laughing - and kissing.

If she'd known a single moment of pain, it didn't show. And that drew him. Even though he knew better. His relationships could only ever end badly.

"Don't look at me like that," the little blond angel snapped, hands balling at her sides.

Planning to strike him? A laughable concept, that. She had no way of knowing he would enjoy it. That he would want more and more and more, until he was begging her to strike him again. _I would do the world a favor if I let the Hunters chop off my head._

Gods, he hated himself. Hated what he was and what he was forced to do. What he now craved.

"If you've come to rape us, you should know that we'll fight you. We won't be taken easily." She raised her chin another notch and squared her shoulders. Such courage from one so small amazed him, but he could not be sidetracked from his current task.

"Do any of you know how to heal a human?"

She blinked at him, losing a little of her bravado. "Human?"

"A male."

She blinked again. "Why?"

"Do you?" he insisted, not bothering to answer her. "We haven't much time."

"Why?" she repeated.

Zayn stalked toward her, savagery in every step. To her credit, she did not back down. The closer he came, the more her scent filled his nostrils, heady, alluring. Like the girl herself. Unexpectedly, his anger lessened. "Answer me, and I might let you live another day."

"Perrie. Answer him. Please." The oldest of the humans reached out a trembling, wrinkled hand and latched onto the girl's arm, trying to tug her back to the bed, away from him.

Perrie. The name rolled through his mind. Rolled over his tongue, too, he realized, speaking it aloud before he could stop himself. "Perrie." His cock jerked in response. "Pretty. I am called Zayn."

The girl resisted the old woman, shaking off her hold. She continued to face Zayn. Her eyebrows and lashes were at least four shades darker than the hair on her head.

He couldn't help himself. Despite the need to hurry, he mentally stripped her. Curve after curve greeted him, a banquet to his starved gaze. Soft breasts tipped by raspberry nipples. Soft, flat belly. Soft yet strong thighs.

Zayn no longer allowed himself to bed humans, choosing to take care of himself when the need arose. His passions were too dark, too painful for most humans to endure. This one, with her softness and her aura of innocence, would be more hurt and disgusted than most. There was no doubt in his mind. Worse, the humans he slept with became drunk on his demon, seeking and inflicting pain as intently as he did.

Even if all he wanted from Perrie was a kiss, she would not be able to handle it. He might not be able to handle it. The thought of bruising her, of making her bleed, of ruining her, left a hollow ache inside his chest.

"I will ask one more time. Are any of you healers?" he barked, suddenly eager to escape Perrie and her taunting innocence.

She blanched at his harshness, but still did not retreat. "If - if I am a healer, will you swear to spare my mother, sister and grandmother? They haven't done anything wrong. We came to Budapest to get away, to say goodbye to my grandpa. We - "

He held up a hand and she fell silent. Hearing about her life was dangerous; already he wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort her for a loss that had obviously shaken her. "Yes, I will spare your lives if you save him," he lied.

If the Titans could be believed, Josh would soon break, becoming crazed for blood and death. He would exist for no other purpose than killing these humans. Giving them a little peace of mind during their final days was merciful, Zayn rationalized. Final days. He didn't like the reminder.

Perrie's shoulders relaxed slightly, and she cast a determined glance at her family. Each woman was shaking her head no. Perrie nodded.

Zayn frowned, not understanding the byplay between them. Did she, too, lie? Finally, Perrie turned back to him. He forgot his confusion as their gazes locked. Or he simply didn't care about the answer. Her angelic beauty was more enthralling than Pandora's box, promising absolution it couldn't possibly deliver. And yet, a part of him wished that it could. Just for a moment.

She closed her eyes, released a long, heavy breath and said, "Yes. I'm a healer."

"Come with me, then." He didn't take Perrie's hand, too afraid of what would happen if he touched her. _Afraid of a mere human? Coward._ No, smart. If he did not know what she felt like, he could not miss the sensation when she was dead.

What if Liam thought of a way to save her? What if -

"Come." Refusing to waste any more time, Zayn pivoted and strode from the room, forcing Perrie to follow. He locked the other humans inside, then sprang into motion, trying to maintain a healthy distance between himself and the angel.

 

 _Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,_ Perrie Edwards chanted in her mind. Her heart was trying to fight its way out of her chest, banging on her ribs as if they were a door with frozen hinges. _Why did I do this? I'm not a healer._

She'd taken an anatomy class in college, yeah. She'd taken a CPR class in case Grandpa had a heart attack in front of her, sure. But she wasn't a nurse or a doctor. She was just a struggling artist who'd thought a vacation would help heal the grief and sorrow brought on by her grandfather's death.

What was she going to do if this hard, steely-eyed soldier - clearly that's what he was, a soldier - wanted her to perform surgery of some sort? She wouldn't do it, of course. She couldn't put someone's life in jeopardy like that. But anything else...maybe. Probably. She had to save her family. It was their lives in jeopardy now.

 _Ohmygod._ Trying to find a measure of tranquility, she studied her captor's back as he paced in front of her. He had olive skin and black-as-midnight eyes. She'd seen him once before, and he hadn't smiled then, either. There'd been pain in his eyes, then and now. There'd been fresh cuts on his arms, then and now.

 _Ohmygod, ohmygod._ She didn't even think about running away from him. He'd only catch her, and then he'd be pissed. Maybe attack. And that was scarier than braving a haunted house at Halloween with chainsaws, coffins and all. Alone.

 _Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod_. She wanted to talk to him, to ask him what would be expected of her, but she couldn't find her voice. There was a baseball-sized lump in her throat, preventing speech. She didn't know why she'd been kidnapped, nearly didn't care anymore. She just wanted to leave this drafty, creepy castle with its freaky, overly muscled owners and fly home to the safety of her apartment in Gordie.

Suddenly stabbed by a sense of desolation and homesickness, she almost sobbed. Would this soldier keep his word if she helped? She doubted it, but hope was a silly thing. She'd do her best, no matter what, and she'd pray for a miracle.

Too bad she couldn't convince herself a miracle would happen. _You'll probably get knifed by the brute if anything goes wrong._

 _Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod._ If she failed, there was no question in her mind that she and her family would die - very soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content belongs to Gena Showalter.

When Zayn strode into Harry's bedroom with the angelic-looking blonde Josh was supposed to kill in tow, Harry almost wept with relief. Louis had vomited over and over again, until there was nothing left in his stomach. And then he had vomited some more.

Afterward he'd fallen back onto the mattress and stopped breathing. Desperate, Harry had hailed the Titan again, but the god had done nothing whatsoever. Once Harry had agreed to repay him for any aid rendered, the all-powerful entity had abandoned him.

The Titan had raised his hopes and then dashed them completely. Harry had wondered at the being's intentions, and now he knew: utter cruelty, sadistic amusement.

Zayn stepped out of the way and the little blonde rushed forward.

"Help him," Harry commanded.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod," she chanted. She paled as she knelt at the side of the bed. She was trembling, but gave Harry an accusing glare. "What did you do to him?"

Guilt intensifying, Harry tightened his hold on the fragile, sick, dying Louis. He barely knew the boy, but he wanted him to live more than he wanted to avoid hell's hottest flames.

It was too sudden to feel this strongly, yes. It was completely out of character, yes. That, too. He could ponder his foolishness later.

"He's not breathing," he rasped. "Make him breathe."

The blonde's attention returned to Louis. "He needs a hospital. Someone call 999. Now! Wait, crap. Do you have emergency service here? Do you even have phones? If so, we need to call immediately!"

"No time," Harry snapped. "You must do something."

"Just call. He's - "

"Do something or die!" he roared.

"Oh God." Absolute panic filled her eyes. "I need - I need to do CPR. Yes, that's right. CPR. I can do it. I can," she said, more to herself than anyone else. She jackknifed to a stand and leaned down, hovering directly over Louis's lifeless face. "Lay him flat and then get out of my way."

Harry did not even think of protesting. He rolled Louis to his back and hopped onto the floor, crouching beside the bed. He refused to release his hand, however, retaining a tight clasp. The girl stood there for a moment, unmoving, panic still lighting her eyes.

"Perrie," Zayn said, a warning.

The girl - Perrie - swallowed and flicked Zayn a nervous glance. The warrior's dark eyebrows winged into his hair as he stared at her and asked, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Of - of course." Rosy color seeped into her cheeks as she once again returned her attention to Louis. Flattening her palms on Louis’s chest, she pushed once, twice, and said shakily, "Don't worry. I've practiced. A dummy is the same as a human, a dummy is the same as a human." Then she meshed her parted lips over Louis's.

For the next several minutes, surely an eternity that was worse than the hours Harry spent burning each night, she alternated between pumping on Louis's chest and blowing air into his mouth. He'd never felt so helpless. Time became an enemy more hated than ever.

Zayn waited by the door, still and silent. His arms were crossed over his chest. He wasn't watching Louis, but Perrie, his expression shuttered. Harry rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, his own breathing so labored he could hear every exhalation echoing in his mind.

Finally, blessedly, Louis coughed and sputtered. His entire body spasmed as he opened his mouth and struggled to suck life into his lungs. In - he gasped, choked. Out - he gagged.

Harry gathered him to his chest in the next instant. Louis struggled against him. "Hold still, beauty. Hold still."

Gradually his movements ceased. "Harry," he rasped, and it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

"I'm here." His skin was still cold, still clammy. "I've got you."

Perrie remained at the side of the bed, wringing her hands. White teeth bit down on her bottom lip, drawing a bead of blood. "He needs a hospital. Doctors, medicine."

"The journey from fortress to city would be too much for him."

"Wh-what's wrong with him? A virus? Oh God! I put my mouth on his."

"Wine," Zayn answered. "He is sick from our wine."

Her blue eyes widened and she flicked Louis a glance. "All this from a hangover? You should have told me. He needs water and coffee to dilute the alcohol." She paused. "For what it's worth, I hope - think he'll live, but you really should take him to a hospital and get him on an IV. He's probably dehydrated." Even as she spoke, shades of color trickled back into Louis's cheeks.

"Hurt," Louis whispered. His hands clutched at Harry's back, drawing him closer. Perhaps he felt as Harry did, that they could not be close enough. He would have burrowed under his skin if possible.

"What else can you do for him?" Harry demanded of Perrie. "He is still in pain."

"I - I - " Perrie pursed her mouth and glanced away from him, her gaze locking on Zayn. The warrior looked suspicious. Her eyes widened, and she snapped her fingers again. "Tylenol! Motrin. Something like that. That always helped my hangovers."

Harry glanced to Zayn. "I've seen a commercial for such things, I think, but don't know where to obtain them. Do you?"

"No. There's never been a reason to pay attention to human medicines." Zayn didn't remove his eyes from the blonde; his voice sounded scratchy for some reason.

Niall would have known, but Niall was not here. "Where can we get this Tylenol?" Harry asked the girl, urgency consuming him.

Perrie's brows puckered in an imitation of Zayn as she glanced between the two men. There was an odd gleam in her eyes, nowhere near as lovely a blue as Louis’s, as if he and Zayn had been speaking a foreign language and she could not grasp the specifics. "I have some in my purse," she finally said.

When she failed to elaborate, Harry gritted out, "Go fetch your purse, then."

"Unless you free me, I can't. It's in my hotel room. What - what kind of wine did he drink?" she asked with barely a pause.

"One you have never heard of, healer," Zayn said softly.

He knew, Perrie realized, suddenly petrified. What had given her away? Her panicked plea to call 999? Her nervousness? A shudder rocked her. Cold infused her blood. Then he stepped behind her, crowding her with his heat, his vibrant energy chasing away the chill. Her shudder became a shiver. She hastily moved away from him, afraid of her reaction to him.

"You are a healer, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a mocking curse.

Oh, yes. He knew. She twisted the material of her pants and swallowed audibly. At least he didn't rat her out - or murder her on the spot.

She gulped. "You can't deny he's breathing now. I did my part. You owe me."

Zayn looked away from her, as if he couldn't stand the sight of her another moment.

"Get Liam," Harry said.

"Can't. He is otherwise occupied." Zayn stalked toward the open door. "I'll be back," he called over his shoulder. "Watch the blonde, Harry. She's wily." With a jerk, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Like an idiot, Perrie nearly ran after him. He scared her more than any of the others, but for some reason she'd rather be with him. There was something about him that affected her. Deeply. The pain in his eyes, maybe. The fine lines of stress etched in his face, perhaps. He called to her on a primitive level. A level that claimed he'd keep her safe, no matter what threats he uttered.

"If I have to chase you," the one named Harry said, "you will regret it. Understand?"

The blunt warning shoved the lingering heat from her skin. This man was completely terrifying. Every time he spoke, she heard a trace of brutality in his voice, as if it were infused in the undercurrents. As if he couldn't wait to inflict maximum pain on anyone who even glanced in his direction. She'd noticed in the past few minutes that his face sometimes mutated, a skeletal mask falling over his features. His emerald eyes had flickered to black, then neon red, then black again.

What kind of man - what kind of human - could look like that?

A quake traveled from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. As a child, she'd feared the boogeyman until her mother had told her the creature was a myth, a lie meant to keep children obedient. Perrie thought perhaps she was staring at the boogeyman right now.

Only when he gazed at the boy on the bed did he appear normal.

"Understand?" he demanded again.

"Yes." She punctuated the word with a cooperative nod.

"Good." Promptly dismissing the girl from his thoughts, Harry turned back to Louis. His trembling had escalated into wracking tremors. His teeth chattered. His eyes were open and a lone tear slid down his pale cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered to the healer.

"You're welcome."

"Feel better?" Harry asked softly.

"Still hurt," he said. "Cold. But yes. Better."

Willing his own heat into Louis’s smaller body, he said, "I'm sorry." He rarely uttered those words. In fact, the only apology he'd made in decades was the one he'd offered his friends this morning. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He couldn't say it enough. "I'm so sorry."

Louis shook his head, then moaned and lay still. "Accident."

His mouth fell open in surprise and reverence. So far he'd caused this human nothing but pain, yet here he was, trying to absolve him. Astonishing. "You're going to live. I swear it." Whatever he had to do to keep his vow, he'd do it.

Louis smiled faintly. "At least... silence."

Silence. That wasn't the first time he'd used that word. Nor was it the first time he'd said it with such awe. "I do not understand."

Despite his weakened condition, Louis managed another of those frail, sweet smiles. "Makes two of us."

Fireworks sparked in his bloodstream - that smile, so radiant, so lovely - warming him, arousing him, filling him with so much relief he was almost drunk with it. He opened his mouth to respond, not that he knew what to say, when Zayn sailed into the room, Josh at his side. The other man's short hair gleamed in the light.

Seeing them, Perrie retreated to the wall, realized what she'd done and stepped forward again. She raised her chin again, reminding Harry of Louis in healthier moments.

He had assumed Zayn had left the fortress and traveled into the city for Perrie's purse, but Zayn's hands were empty. Anger slithered through Harry, provoking Violence as a child would a beast in a cage, running a stick over the bars.

A frown pulled at his lips. He'd hoped to see the last of the wretched demon today - at least until midnight arrived.

"Why are you still here? Go get that purse," he commanded. Words he had never thought he'd say.

"I'll take too long," Zayn said, looking anywhere but at Perrie. "Josh is going to escort the female into town. He says he's fine right now, that he has no desire to hurt her."

"Oh, no. No, no, no. I don't want to leave without my family," Perrie rushed out on a panicked breath.

Josh ignored her and pulled his shirt off over his head. "Let's get this done." He was tanned and muscled, a testament to his warrior's soul. He sported so many tattoos it was hard to distinguish one from the other.

Harry only recognized two: the black butterfly that sprawled along the length of his bicep and the demon that stretched ugly wings over the contours of his neck. Just looking at him, anyone could tell he was a good man to have at your side and a bad one to have at your throat.

"Stop. There's no reason to undress." Perrie shook her head violently. "Put your shirt back on. Right now, damn it!"

Grim determination emanated from Josh as he approached her.

Perrie locked her wild gaze on Zayn. "Don't let him rape me. Please. Zayn, please."

"He's not going to touch you that way," Zayn gnashed out. "You have my word."

There was something very odd about him, Harry noted. His black eyes were edged with scarlet, a color-match to the scarlet butterfly tattoo that flew along the waves of Harry’s ribs. Pain, it seemed, was working himself into a fit of violence. Over Perrie?

The girl wasn't pacified by his words, but Josh continued his approach anyway. Perrie scrambled from one side of the room to the other, strange noises emerging from her throat. Small, raspy pants, as desperate and feral as Zayn's suddenly quickened breathing. Harry felt certain that at any moment, Pain was going to leap at Wrath and attempt to claw it to death.

"Stop," Louis said.

Finally Josh trapped the frantic woman in a corner.

She screamed as her arms and legs lashed out, trying to keep him at a distance. "Don't touch me. Don't you dare touch me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Josh said calmly.

She kneed the sensitive flesh between his legs. He gasped, hunched a little, but gave no other reaction.

"Fuck you," She snarled, a wildcat that wouldn't be tamed. "I won't let you rape me. I'll die first."

"No rape. But if I must, I will knock you out. And you won't like my methods, that I promise you."

Far from subduing her, the threat merely enraged her further. She fought harder, slamming her elbow into Josh's stomach, kicking him in the groin a second time. Obviously growing weary of her struggles, Josh raised his fist.

Louis stiffened, moaned. "Stop this. I don't need the pills. I don't."

"Do not hurt her," Zayn growled.

Josh didn't strike. Yet. He ran his tongue over his teeth. "She made her choice."

If he hurt her and Louis witnessed it, Harry feared he would want to leave again, would once again insist he take him home. "Calm down," he told Perrie. "He only needs to accompany you into town."

"Liar!" Snarling, she used her leg to boot Josh in the stomach.

The warrior didn't budge. Disgust fell over his features, and he tightened the fist he still held in midair. "I warned you."

"Stop," Louis called hoarsely.

Harry opened his mouth to utter his own command. He needn't have bothered. Zayn beat him to it. One second Zayn was on the far side of the room, the next he was at Josh's side, gripping the man's wrist. The two glared at each other for a long, silent moment.

"No hitting," Zayn said, and Harry had never heard Pain have a more lethal tone.

A battle raged in Josh's eyes before he lowered his arm. Had he lied? Was the gods' decree already taking root? Was he fighting the need to hurt Perrie? "Calm her down, then, or I will knock her out."

Zayn didn't move, just shifted the direction of his gaze. Tears poured from Perrie's eyes, making the terror banked there glisten.

"Don't let him do this," She whispered in that same broken tone Louis had used. "I helped you, just like you wanted. Don't let him do this," she repeated.

As quickly as Zayn had leapt to her defense, Harry half expected him to give in to his plea. He was mistaken.

"Stop fighting him," Zayn commanded, showing no mercy. "We need that medicine, and he is the only one who can take you to get it. You won't even scratch him because you can't afford to anger him. We clear?"

A look of betrayal passed over her face. "Why can't he go into town alone? Why can't he buy the pills at the nearest drugstore?"

"Harry," Louis said. "I'm better. Swear. I don't - "

He squeezed his shoulder gently, but did not reply. Interrupting the trio would only increase the tension. Besides, he knew Louis was lying. Pain still lingered in his eyes, glowing brightly.

"Josh is taking you into the city," Zayn continued. "He will not touch you inappropriately. You have my word." A muscle ticked below his left eye. "He would not know what to buy on his own - you must go."

Silent, shaking, Perrie studied his face through the watery shield of her lashes. Searching for truth? Or for comfort? Finally she nodded, a single, nearly imperceptible incline of her head. She straightened and took a wobbly step toward Josh.

Without a word, Josh grabbed her wrist and stalked to the room's only window. Its arching glass led onto a wide terrace. Perrie did not protest, even as he unlatched the pane with his free hand. The glue Harry had used earlier could easily halt a human, but was nothing to a warrior’s superior strength. Cold air instantly blustered inside, virginal snowflakes swirling through the room. He released her wrist only to grip her waist and lift her onto the window ledge.

"Stop him," Louis rasped as Perrie peeked over the rail and laughed bitterly, a little hysterically.

"What are you going to do?" the blonde demanded. "Throw me? You're all liars, you know that? I hope every single one of you rots in hell."

"We already are," Zayn said flatly.

Josh gripped Perrie's shoulders as he joined her, then spun her so that she faced him. "Hold on to me."

Another bitter laugh. "Why?"

"So you'll live." Large wings suddenly sprang from hidden slits in his back. They were long and black and looked as soft as gossamer, but the ends were pointed, sharp as knives.

Louis gasped in shock. "I'm better. I swear I'm better."

Harry stroked his cheek, hoping to relax him. "Shh. Everything will be fine."

Perrie's eyes widened unnaturally. "Stop!" She tried to wrench herself from Josh's grip, tried to race back inside the room, but he held tight. She reached for Zayn. "I can't do this. I can't! Don't let him take me, Zayn. Please!"

Expression tormented, Zayn stepped toward her... stretched out his arms... scowled... dropped them to his sides.

"Zayn!"

"Go!" Zayn shouted.

Without another word, Josh jumped, falling from view and taking Perrie with him. She screamed, but that scream soon became a gasp, the gasp a moan. Then the two came into view again, soaring through the air, Josh's wings flapping gracefully, rhythmically.

"Stop him," Louis breathed. "Please."

"I can't. I wouldn't even if I could. Do not worry for her. The wings of Wrath are strong, well able to hold Perrie's slight weight." He searched the room for Zayn, who paced from one corner to another. The man was gripping a dagger by the blade rather than the hilt and blood was dripping from his white-knuckled hand onto the floor.

"We need water and coffee," Harry told him, remembering Perrie's instructions.

Zayn planted his feet and squeezed his eyelids closed, as if he fought for control. As if he teetered on the brink of a total meltdown. "I should have taken her myself, but walking would have taken too long. Did you see how frightened she was?"

"I saw." Harry didn't know what else to say. Perrie's fear was nothing to him when compared to Louis's pain.

Zayn rubbed a hand over his jaw, smearing a trail of crimson on his skin. "Water? Coffee, you said?"

"Yes."

Seemingly grateful for the reprieve, Zayn strode from the room. Obviously Harry wasn't the only one in the fortress who suddenly had human troubles.

A short while later, Zayn returned with the desired items and set the tray on the edge of the bed. That done, he left again. Harry doubted he'd return. Shaking his head in pity - if Zayn felt for Perrie half of what Harry felt for Louis, he was destined for a world of hurt, and not the kind he craved - Harry reached over Louis and gripped the tepid glass of water. He slid one hand under his neck, tilted his head, and placed the rim of the glass at the seam of his lips with the other.

"Drink," he told him.

Stubborn, Louis pressed his lips together and gave a slight shake of his head.

"Drink," Harry insisted.

"No. It will hurt my - "

Harry dumped the contents into the boy’s mouth. He sputtered and coughed, but he did swallow most of it. Several droplets trickled down his chin. He tossed the empty glass onto the floor, heard a thud.

Louis glared up at him, accusation in those blue eyes. "I said I feel better, but that doesn't mean I feel great. My stomach is still sensitive."

Harry’s mouth edged into a frown. Caring for a human was difficult, that was for sure. He did not apologize for forcing him to drink, however. What he needed, he would get. Whether he wanted it or not.

He gripped the mug of coffee, and his frown deepened when he realized it was cold. Oh, well. It would have to do. "Drink," he ordered. For whatever reason - he still wasn't ready to ponder it – this human was important to him. He mattered.

He was not escaping him. Not through death or any other means.

Louis gave no indication that he'd heard him and certainly no hint of his intentions. In the blink of an eye, he shot out his arm and knocked the mug out of his hand. The movement was weak, but the ceramic hit the floor and shattered, leaving a black, caffeinated river.

Twin spots of color dotted his cheeks. "No," he said, drawing out the single syllable with relish.

"That was uncalled for," Harry chastised, brushing moist strands of hair from Louis’s temples, savoring the feel of his silky skin.

"I don't care."

"Fine. No coffee." He stared down at him, this boy who had shaken his entire world. "Do you still wish me to let you go?" The question left his lips before he could stop it. He hadn't meant to put the request before him, since he intended to keep him by whatever means necessary, but there was a need inside him - a foolish need - to give him whatever he desired.

Louis looked away from him, over his shoulder, past the wall, a peculiar intensity claiming his expression. Several minutes ticked by in silence. Torturous minutes.

He fisted the pillow. "It is a yes or no question, Louis."

"I don't know, okay?" he said softly. "I love the silence, and I'm beginning to like you. I'm grateful to you for taking care of me." he paused. "But..."

But he was still scared. "I told you that I'm immortal,” Harry said. "And I told you that I am possessed. The only other thing you need to know is that I will protect you while you're here." _Even from myself._

What a change the last hours had wrought in him. Yesterday - this morning, even - he had thought to take his body, question him, then kill him. Yet he had since done everything in his power to keep him alive. And he was no longer certain what questions he wanted to ask.

"Will you protect the other human?" he asked. "The girl who helped me?"

Unless someone figured out a way to defy the Titans, he doubted anyone could protect the healer. Not even Zayn. But he gave Louis a gentle squeeze and said, "Do not give her another thought. Josh will take care of her." That was not a lie.

Louis nodded gratefully, and he experienced a twinge of guilt.

A few minutes passed in silence. He watched him, happy to note that his color was returning steadily now and the glaze of pain was fading. Louis watched him, too, his expression unreadable.

"How are demons able to do good deeds?" he eventually asked. "I mean, besides what you've done for me, you've done great things for the town with your donations and philanthropy. The people believe angels live here. They've believed it for hundreds of years."

"How can you know that they've believed such a thing for so long?"

A tremor swept through him and he looked away. "I - I just do."

No, he had a secret, something he didn't want Harry to know. He cradled his jaw and forced his eyes back to him. "I already suspect you are Bait, Louis. You can tell me the truth."

His brow puckered, those dark slashes drawing together. "You keep calling me that like it's something foul and disgusting, but I have no idea what bait is."

There was genuine confusion in his voice. Innocence or theatrics? "I'm not going to kill you, but I expect total honesty from you from this moment forward. Understand? You will not lie to me."

Frowning, Louis said, "I'm not lying."

Slowly Harry’s blood began to heat, the spirit once again making its presence known. He hurried to change the subject. Hearing more lies might cause him to snap, to hurt. Bait or not, he refused to let it come to that. "Let us talk of something else."

The boy nodded, appearing eager to comply. "Let's talk about you. Those men stabbed you last night, and you died. I realize you came back to life because you're an immortal demon warrior... thing. What I don't know is why they did it."

"You have your secrets, and I have mine." Harry planned on keeping him here and keeping him alive, and because of that, he wouldn't discuss his death-curse. Louis already feared him. If he knew the truth, he would despise him, too. Bad enough he, himself, knew what he had done to deserve such punishment.

More than that, if word spread of what happened to him every night, people might forget his reputation as an angel. Someone could snatch his body, cart him away, set him on fire or cut off his head and there was nothing he could do about it. He might desire this boy more than he'd ever desired another, but he didn't trust him. Some of his brain, at least, was still in his head and not in his cock.

"Did you ask them to kill you so you could go back to hell to visit your friends down there or something?"

"I have no friends in hell," he said, insulted.

"So - "

"So nothing." Louis opened his mouth to speak, but Harry squeezed his hip. "It is my turn to ask the questions. You are not Hungarian. Where, then, are you from?"

Louis settled into his side with a sigh, Harry curling his body around his, back to chest. That Louis was comfortable enough to willingly lie with him like this delighted him. "I'm from the UK. Doncaster, to be exact, though I spend most of my time traveling with the World Institute of Parapsychology."

Harry flattened his hand on Louis’s tummy and gently rubbed as he searched his mind for any reference to such an Institute. "And they are..."

"Interested in the supernatural. The unexplainable. Creatures of every kind," he answered on a contented exhale. "They study, observe and try to keep peace between the different races."

Harry paused. Had he just admitted to working for Hunters? Their hate-filled actions had always been carried out in the name of promoting peace for mankind. His brow furrowed in confusion. An odd thing to do, and certainly a first. "What do you do for them?"

He hesitated. "I listen in order to help find the creatures and any other objects of interest." Louis wriggled uncomfortably against the mattress, no longer quite so content.

"What happens when you find these things?"

"I told you. They're studied."

When he did not elaborate, Harry stared up at the ceiling. His confusion intensified. Studied, as in killed? Was this a secret warning, his way of letting him know he did indeed work for Hunters? Did he work for them and not know it? Or was this Institute harmless and truly aiming for peace between the species? "Do the people you work with have tattoos on their wrists? A symbol of infinity?"

Louis shook his head. "No, not that I know of."

Truth? A lie? Harry didn't know this boy well enough to gauge. Every fanatical Hunter that had attacked the Lords in Greece - and even those in the forest surrounding the fortress yesterday - had been branded with a tattoo. "You said that you listen. What exactly do you listen to?"

Another hesitant pause. "Conversations," Louis whispered. "Look, I thought I could talk about this, thought I wanted to talk about it, but I'm not ready. Okay?"

Violence sniped at that, and Harry struggled to contain the demon. What was he hiding? "It doesn't matter if you are ready to talk about it or not. You will tell me what I want to know. Now."

"No, I won't," he said, stubborn again.

"Louis."

"No!"

Harry was very close to rolling on top of him, pinning him to the bed and forcing the answers from him. Only the knowledge that he was still sick, still weak, held him in place. But he would get the answer one way or another. "Beauty, I ask only because I want to know you better. Tell me something about your job. Please."

Slowly Louis relaxed. "People who work for the Institute learn to keep quiet about their jobs. Not many civilians would believe what we do. Most would just consider us crazy."

"I will not think you crazy. How can I?"

He sighed. "All right. I'll tell you about one of my assignments. Which one, which one," he muttered, then clicked his tongue. "I know! You might appreciate this. A few years ago, I - uh, the Institute discovered an angel. He'd broken his wings in several places. While we doctored him, he taught us about different dimensions and gateways. That's the best part about my job - with every new discovery we learn that the world is a bigger place than any of us ever realized."

Interesting. "And what does the Institute do with demons?"

"Study them, like I mentioned. Step in and prevent them from hurting humans if needed."

Part of what he described meshed with the goals of the Hunters he had dealt with all those years ago, not to mention those he'd dealt with yesterday. The rest, well, didn't. "Your people do not believe in destroying that which they do not understand?"

He laughed. "No."

Hunters did. Or had. At least, he thought so. So many years had passed since he had fought in that war that he sometimes had trouble remembering certain details. At one time, he knew he had understood why the Hunters wanted him and the others dead: they had done evil things, their abilities giving them the strength and longevity to do so forever if not stopped. But then the Hunters had killed Ed and his understanding had evaporated, for the demise of Distrust had divided the warriors. Half had craved peace, absolution and refuge, quietly relocating to Budapest. The others had sought revenge and remained in Greece to continue the fight.

He'd often wondered if the blood feud still raged and if the Lords who had stayed in Greece had survived these many centuries.

Harry brushed a strand of hair from Louis's temple. "What else can you tell me of this Institute?"

Frowning, he turned his head and stared up at him. "I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I think they plan to study you next."

Now that did not surprise him. Whatever this Institute was, objective or war-hungry, they would be interested in the demons. But with Torin's sensors and cameras, they would never make it up the hill - and those that dared try would, in fact, be treated as Hunters, whether they were or not.

"They can try to study us, but they will not find it easy to do so," he told Louis. With the boy so near to him, his scent in his nose, he was catapulted deeper and deeper into sexual awareness. With every second that passed, he hardened a little more. Louis was soft and sweet. He was alive, feeling better with every second that passed. And he was his.

Suddenly he found himself eager to forget the Institute, not learn more about it. "I want you," he admitted. "Very badly."

Louis’s lovely eyes widened. "You do?" he squeaked.

"You are beautiful. All men must want you." He said the words and immediately scowled. If another man tried to touch him, that other man would die. Painfully, slowly.

Violence purred in agreement.

Louis's cheeks colored again, reminding him of the roses he sometimes spied growing beside the fortress. He shook his head. "I'm too weird."

The flat assurance in his tone caused him to frown. "How so?"

Louis looked away, saying, "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"I can't." He traced his thumb along the boy’s jaw.

A shiver traveled the length of Louis’s body, followed quickly by goose bumps. He squirmed against him. Arousal suddenly scented the air, and Harry’s nostrils flared as he drank it in. "You want me, too," he said on a low, gravelly rumble of satisfaction, forgetting his question and Louis’s refusal to answer.

"I - I - "

"Cannot deny it," he finished for him. "So now I will ask again. Do you still wish me to take you home?"

He gulped. "I thought I did. Only a few hours ago, I thought I was desperate to escape. But... I can't even explain it to myself, but I want to stay here. I want to stay with you. For now, at least."

Harry’s satisfaction increased, swimming through him, potent, intense. Whether Louis answered as Bait or simply as boy, at the moment he did not care. _I'll have him yet._

 _We'll have him,_ Violence corrected, frightening Harry with the fervor of its tone. _We will have him._


	10. Chapter 10

When Josh and Perrie returned to the fortress, flying through the window and landing on the floor of Harry's bedroom with a gentle tap, Louis experienced a kick of amazement. So. He hadn't imagined it. The man really did have shiny black wings.

_You wanted to meet others like you, Tomlinson. Well, guess what. You got your wish._

Immortal, Harry had told him. Possessed. He'd suspected demons, so it didn't really surprise him that that's what they were. But wings? While trekking the hill, he'd heard about a man who could fly. He hadn't given the words much thought; he'd been too busy trying to block out the voices. Should have known better. Did that also mean one of the men could shift into the spirit world? One could mesmerize with a look?

He sighed. Harry had mesmerized him with only a look. He'd been ensnared by him since the first, his constant lust as uncharacteristic as his rash decision to stay here.

"Here's the Tylenol," Perrie said, her voice shaky. "Well, the generic version." Her skin was tinted green, and she swayed on her feet. She dug into a pink bag and withdrew a red-and-white bottle.

Beside her, Josh straightened his shoulders. His wings snapped closed, rolling behind his back, then disappearing altogether. He bent down, grabbed his shirt from the floor and tugged it over his head, covering the menacing tattoos that decorated his torso. He strode to the window and shut it before turning to Perrie, arms crossed over his massive chest. He stood there, silent, observing.

"Thank you," Louis said. "I'm just sorry you had to go to such trouble to get them."

Silent, Perrie handed him two pills, which he gratefully accepted. Little aches and twinges still bothered him, and his stomach still fought a determined battle with nausea, though nothing like before.

Harry swiped the pills from his hand before he could toss them into his mouth. He studied them and frowned. "Are they magic?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"No," Louis said.

"How, then, will two small pebbles help take away pain?"

Louis and Perrie shared a confused look. The men would have _had_ to interact with humans over the years. How could they know nothing of contemporary medicine?

The only explanation Louis could think of was that they'd never paid attention to a sick human before. Besides, only one of the men, Niall, had been seen in the city with any sort of frequency. He remembered that much from the voices.

Did Harry keep himself locked away in this castle, then? Louis suddenly suspected he did, and that made him wonder...did he ever feel forgotten? Untouched, unloved? Except for the kindness he'd known from Cowell, he constantly felt that way himself at the Institute, where he was only as good as his ability. _What do you hear, Louis? Was nothing else said, Louis? Did they elaborate, Louis?_

Louis realized he wanted to understand Harry. He wanted to learn about him, comfort the warrior as the warrior had comforted him. Harry couldn't know it, and he wouldn't tell him, but every time he rubbed his stomach and uttered those sweet words of reassurance in his ear, he fell a little in love with him. Foolish and wrong, but unstoppable.

He should tell him about his own ability, but he'd decided against it the moment he'd shown such angry interest. He'd wondered: If Harry was already angry without knowing the extent of his abilities, would he freak if he knew the truth?

Most of the people at the Institute had been uncomfortable around him, knowing he could divine their most private discussions simply by stepping into a room. Since he'd decided to stay here, weird place though it was, he didn't want to deal with that discomfort. For once, he wanted to be thought of as the normal one. Just for a little while.

Around demons, that shouldn't be too difficult.

He'd spill the truth soon enough. In a few days, perhaps. And maybe then he could learn to keep the voices at bay, even when Harry wasn't around. Meanwhile, he'd have to find a way to call Cowell. He deserved to know what had happened to him and that he was okay. He didn't want him to worry.

Hopefully, he was studying the fortress as he suspected and would see that he was happy. Hopefully, his happiness came before his job in the man’s eyes.

"Take them," Harry said, pushing into his thoughts. He placed the pills in his open palm. "If they make him worse," he added, looking sternly at Perrie, "I cannot be held responsible for my actions."

"Don't threaten her," Louis said with a shake of his head. "I've taken this type of drug before. I'll be fine."

"She - "

"Hasn't done anything wrong." Louis wasn't sure where he acquired the bravery. He only knew it was there, unwilling to let Harry bluster and intimidate.

Harry wouldn't hurt him, he knew that now - a fact he still had trouble grasping. Beyond the miracle of making the voices stop, this harsh man had tenderly seen to his needs. He hadn't bolted when he'd vomited, as most would have done. He'd stayed with him, caring for him, holding him close, as if he were precious.

As wonderfully as he might have treated him, however, Louis didn't know what he was capable of doing to someone else. He knew what he looked capable of doing: any dark deed, every evil deed. But there was no way he'd let him hurt Perrie, who had also helped him.

"Louis," he said on a sigh.

"Harry."

His fingers stilled, splayed on Louis’s stomach. Thankfully, he didn't move away. Louis could have rested in his arms forever. Truly, no one, not even Cowell, had ever made him feel so special.

He only vaguely remembered his parents. They hadn't coddled him like this, either. Actually, they'd been more than happy to get rid of their crying, screaming little boy. A little boy who'd constantly begged for the voices to stop, never allowing the people around him to sleep or work or relax.

He'd known the very day they'd decided to give him away, though he hadn't understood at the time. He'd walked into their bedroom and the entire conversation had unfolded in his mind.

_“I can't take care of him anymore. He's too much to handle. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think.”_

_“We can't just abandon him, but damn it. I can't take any more, either. The crying never stops.”_

_“I want a normal life again, you know? Like before he was born.” Pause. “I did some research and found a place that could help him. I... called them. They want to meet him. Maybe, I don't know, maybe they can give him what we can't.”_

They'd sent him to the Institute the day after his fifth birthday. There, he'd become known as "subject." Needles, electrodes and monitors became his daily companions, not to mention fear and loneliness and pain. The day he became "Louis" in the eyes of the staff was three years later, when they learned how to use his ability to their advantage.

That was the day Cowell had stepped into his life.

He'd been an ambitious young parapsychologist, quickly climbing the ranks thanks to his vision, drive and sheer passion for his work. He'd accompanied Louis to every location the voices led him to, had even stood beside him while he listened, writing down everything he uttered.

Afterward, Cowell would research what he'd heard and tell him of the results - like the time he'd heard about a vampire intent on draining an entire town. The Institute had been able to find and stop him, and eventually study him. Times like that, he had felt special, gifted, like the characters he read about every night.

"Louis," Harry repeated. Their gazes locked and his eyes blazed with emerald fire. "Say my name again."

"Harry."

His eyes closed for a split second, and for that all-too-quick moment he wore an expression of utter rapture. "I like when you say it."

Louis liked the joy he drew from something so simple. A shiver slipped along the ridges of his spine. But in the next flash - that all-too-quick moment now passed – Harry’s countenance returned to normal. That hint of pleasure vanished from his features, as if he didn't trust himself with the emotion.

"Perrie will - "

"Get me some water," Louis finished for him. "For the pills. Please."

"Yes. I'll get it." Perrie picked up the empty glass from the floor. She stumbled into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled Louis's ears, then Perrie was standing beside him again, holding out the glass.

Once again, Harry confiscated it. He aimed a suspicious look at Perrie, then raised Louis's head and held the cup to his lips. He tossed the pills onto his tongue and swallowed a mouthful of cool, refreshing liquid. Everything slid down his welcoming throat with only the slightest hint of soreness.

"Thank you," he told them.

"It's done, then. I'll escort the girl back to Liam," Josh finally said, his voice so harsh it nearly rubbed his eardrums raw.

"The girl has a name," Perrie snapped.

"What is it? Lippy?" he muttered, grabbing her arm and tugging her from the room. Obviously, the man had no manners and no idea how to treat a person.

If Louis really decided to stay here, he'd have to fix that. "Wait!" he called.

They didn't.

"Is she going to be okay?"

There was a slight hesitation. "Yes," Harry said.

"Good," Louis sighed, his voice echoing off the walls. That was the moment he realized he was alone with Harry. Of course, that was also the moment he became aware of the awful taste in his mouth. God, he must look like roadkill, and smell worse. Mortification heated his cheeks. "I, uh, need to use the bathroom."

"I'll help." Harry scooped him up as if he were merely a bag of feathers, and stood. Louis wrapped his arms around his neck, his strength and warmth flooding all the way to his bones.

Harry carried him past the threshold and stopped in the center of the bathroom. Suspecting he meant to stay, Louis shook his head and fought a wave of dizziness. "I can do it on my own."

"You might fall."

He might, but there was no way he was going to let him stay with him, watching. "I'm fine."

His expression was doubtful, but he said, "Call if you need me. I'll be waiting right outside the door." He slowly inched Louis’s legs down the hard span of his body.

His feet hit the floor and his knees almost crumpled. _I will not fall, I will not fucking fall._ He reached around Harry and grabbed the doorknob, using it to hold himself steady. "Back up, please," he said.

He did - but he didn't go happily. When he stood outside, Louis shut the thick, polished wood in his face.

"Five minutes," he said.

Louis flipped the lock, muttering, "I'll take as long as I need."

"No, you will not. In five minutes, I'm coming in whether you're done or not. The lock means nothing."

"Stubborn."

"Concerned."

_Sweet._ With a half-smile, he rinsed off as best he could and used one of the toothbrushes he found in the cabinet to clean his teeth. Twice he almost fell. He made use of the facilities, _sitting_ as he _refused_ to fall over with his pants around his ankles, brushed the tangles from his hair, and decided, after studying his pale reflection in the mirror, that there was nothing more he could do for his appearance without spackle.

With one minute to spare, he unlocked the door and called for Harry. Louis’s voice was weak, but he threw open the wood as if he'd shouted. His expression was tense. Louis closed his eyes against the intensifying dizziness.

"You pushed yourself too far." Harry tsked. Once again he scooped him up. He carried the boy to the bed and laid him on the softness of the mattress before easing down beside him.

Louis peeked at him through his lashes. More than treating him with care, Harry was the first man ever to lie on a bed with him. The first man to desire him, really.

He'd tried to date upon occasion, but the voices had bombarded him every damn time. To quiet them, he'd attempted the deep breathing and meditation he'd learned. The men had always assumed he was ignoring them, hyperventilating or having a panic attack and had wanted nothing more to do with him.

Once, he'd even gone on a date with a colleague from the Institute, thinking he would at least understand him, if not sympathize. The next day, he'd heard his whispered conversation with another coworker. _Freak,_ he'd called him. _Couldn't spread his legs with a crowbar._

After that, he'd given up dating altogether.

"Feel better?" Harry asked. He drew him into the curve of his body, exactly where Louis wanted to be.

That delicious heat enveloped him and he uttered a contented sigh. He'd searched his entire life, but it had taken a possessed immortal to show him this slice of silent, lust-filled heaven on earth.

"Better?" he repeated.

"Much." He yawned. Warm, safe and clean, pain almost completely gone, he felt exhaustion settle over him, beckoning him to sleep. His eyelids fluttered closed. He forced them open. He wasn't ready to end this reprieve with Harry.

"We have much more to discuss," he said.

He sounded far away, and Louis struggled to pull himself out of the drugging lassitude weaving though him from head to toe. "I know."

If Harry replied, he didn't hear. He was sinking deeper and deeper. Gently, the warrior kissed his cheek. Harry’s lips were firm but soft, and fire burned between them on contact. _Open your eyes, Tomlinson. Maybe he'll kiss you on the mouth._ He tried, really he did. But though the mind was willing, the body was weak.

"We will talk later," Harry said softly. "Sleep now."

"You'll stay?" _How can I need him like this? I haven't even known him a full day._

"Yes. Now, sleep for me."

Helpless to do otherwise, he obeyed.

 

 

"I saw them," Josh told the others grimly. "Harry didn't kill them all, and Niall and Zayn must have missed them when they went scouting. There are more Hunters, and they're gathered in the city even now. I think I heard one of them say the word tonight, but I was too high in the air to be sure."

For the second time in two days, Josh was sitting on the couch in the entertainment room, warriors surrounding him. He rarely came here, preferring instead to seek his own entertainment outside. From the outskirts of the city and the safety of the shadows, he'd secretly watch the mortals interact and wonder why they weren't more concerned about their weaknesses.

Now, he couldn't seem to get away from this chamber.

Niall had returned and was watching another movie. Zayn was pounding away at the punching bag, bloodying his knuckles, Nick was leaning against the corner at the far end of the room and Liam was shooting pool, having barricaded his bedroom door with timber and nails to liberate himself from guard duty. Only Harry was absent, but Josh was glad for that.

The man was too unpredictable today, not to mention too wrapped up in his human. Josh snorted. Not him. Never him. While he liked to study that foolish species, he had never joined them. Even the pretty blonde had not tempted him. Humans were too weak, and his demon constantly urged him to destroy them in ways that mirrored their own sins.

A rapist would lose his cock. A wife-beater would lose his hands. More and more, Josh liked what he did, liked to mete out his own form of vengeance. Which was why he was so close to the edge.

The girl, though...

When they had returned from the city, he had deposited her in Liam's bedroom, her curves imprinted in his mind but his body completely unaffected. She did nothing for him. None of those puny humans did. They were too easily broken, too easily scared. Too easily taken from those who loved them. But he still did not want to hurt her.

"How do you know they are Hunters?" Liam asked him. His features were strained, his wall of calm showing signs of crumbling as he nailed the eight ball into the corner pocket.

"They had guns and knives strapped to their bodies, and I saw the mark of infinity on one of their wrists." Branding themselves was foolish, if you asked him. Like putting a neon sign around their necks that read ‘Shoot Here.’

"How many?"

"Six."

"Well, this sucks." Niall dropped his head in his hands. He wore a pair of unfastened jeans and nothing else. Josh had spotted him in the city, pounding into a woman in a shadowy corner of a building, and had told him to finish quickly and hurry home. Promiscuity must have taken the request to heart. "Where there's six, there's six more and where there's six more and so on and so on."

"Damned Hunters," Zayn snarled, hitting the bag with more force.

Pain was in a dark mood. Darker than usual, Josh qualified. "I do not wish to pack up and leave this time. This is our home. We have done nothing wrong." Yet. "If they've come to fight, I say we fight them."

"They haven't challenged us." Liam scrubbed two fingers over his jaw, a habit of his. "Why?"

"They came up the hill. That is challenge enough. And what about Harry's boy? The Hunters could be waiting for his signal."

"He's more a complication now than ever," Nick muttered. "I still wonder what role the gods are playing in this."

Josh plucked at the silver loop in his eyebrow. "We'll have to tell Harry."

Nick shook his head. "It won't matter to him. You've seen the way he is with the human."

"Yes." And he was still disgusted by it. What kind of warrior turned on his friends for a boy who would ultimately betray him?

Liam laid down his cue and tossed a ball into the air. Catch. Toss. Catch. "We'll be watching and we'll let the Hunters up the hill this time. I don't want innocents killed during the battle."

Zayn gave the punching bag a mean right. "I don't want Hunters here. Not in our home. Let's parade Harry's human around town, using their Bait as our Bait. They'll follow us, meaning to save him and attack. We'll draw them into a trap, away from the townspeople, and obliterate them."

Everyone regarded him sharply. "If we're seen," Josh said, "the city will turn on us. It will be Greece all over again."

"They won't see," Zayn insisted. "Nick can monitor the area with his cameras and radio us to let us know the moment someone approaches."

Josh thought about it, then nodded in approval. The Hunters would be distracted while trying to save Louis, leaving the warriors to pick them off one by one. More important, Josh wouldn't have to clean their blood from the walls.

He glanced at Liam, who looked resigned. "Very well. We will use the boy."

Niall rubbed the back of his neck and Josh thought he meant to protest. Surprisingly, he didn't. "I guess all we have to do now is figure out how to keep Harry from handing us our asses when he finds out."

 

 

Perrie peered at her mother, her sister and her grandmother. Their familiar faces regarded her with hope and curiosity, dread and fear. She was the youngest, but she'd somehow become their leader.

"What happened?" Her mother wrung her hands together. "What did they do to you?"

What should she tell them? Perrie doubted they'd believe the truth: that she'd performed CPR, helped save a boy from dying and then found herself being flown - flown! - into the city by a winged man, where she gathered her purse, listened to Josh as he commanded another warrior to go home - a warrior who had had a fortyish woman pinned against a wall, screwing her brains out - and then come back here. All in about thirty minutes. And to top it all off, there was the voice that had mysteriously popped into her head earlier this morning, but she didn't even want to think about that.

She'd lived through all of it, and yet it was unbelievable even to her. Besides, the truth would scare them. And they were scared enough. "I think they'll let us go soon," she lied.

Grandma Mallory started crying, great sobs of relief. Caitlin, Perrie's older sister, collapsed on the bed with a soft "Thank God." Only her mother remained unmoving.

"Did they hurt you, baby?" Tears filled her eyes. "It's okay, you can tell me. I can take it."

"No, they didn't," she answered honestly.

"You still have to tell us what happened." Her mom gripped her hands and squeezed. "Okay? All right? I've been going crazy, imagining all kinds of things."

Realizing they would actually worry more if she left them in the dark, she finally told them what had happened. The warriors had terrified her, yes. And the dark-eyed one had even managed to - God, she hated to admit this - awaken something inside her with that intense stare of his, causing her to plead for his help.

A plea he'd ignored, the bastard.

But she had to concede that the men had surprised her as much as they'd frightened her. After all, the curly-haired man with the striking emerald eyes and intimidating height had treated the sick boy, Louis, like a treasure. He'd held him gently. He hadn't seemed bothered by the vomit in the bowl and the smell in the room. He had let the small, fragile and sick boy boss him around, even. His concern had only been for Louis.

Oh, to have a man treat her like that.

She couldn't imagine the hard-looking Zayn softening so much. Or caressing so gently, even while making love. Instantly an image of him, naked and straining, slithered into her mind. With a shiver, she forced a blanket of black over the image. She'd reached for him, begged help from him, and he'd denied her. She would not forget that Zayn wasn't a man to rely on.

"What if these... things don't let us go?" her mom asked on a choked sob. "What if they decide to kill us like they've been talking about?"

_Stay strong. Don't let them see those same fears reflected in you._ "They promised to let us live if I helped cure that boy, and I did."

"Men lie all the time," her sister said, sitting up. Caitlin was twenty-nine years old and an aerobics instructor. Usually calm and reserved. None of them had ever been in a situation like this, and none of them really knew how to handle it.

They'd led normal lives until now, getting up every morning and going to work, carefree and unconcerned, deceived into believing that nothing bad would happen to them. Before this, the worst thing Perrie had ever dealt with was the death of her grandfather two months ago. He'd been a loving man with a zest for life, and she'd felt his loss to the marrow of her bones. They all had. Did.

They'd thought, hoped, vacationing here would help dull the grief and make them feel closer to a man they'd never see again. Granddad had loved it here, had constantly talked about the magical two weeks he'd spent here before marrying Grandma.

He had never mentioned a group of homicidal warriors with wings.

"We've searched the room over and over again," her grandma said. Her weathered face was more lined than usual. "The only way out is the front door or the window, and we can't open either one."

"Why do they want to hurt us?" Caitlin cried. Her brown gaze was watery, her dark hair damp from her many bouts of tears. Red splotches stained her skin from forehead to chin.

None of them were pretty criers.

"They didn't say." Perrie sighed. God, what a nightmare. Right before they'd been taken, she and her family had toured the castle district. She'd never seen anything so lovely as the multihued lights shining from hundreds of years of majestic architecture. She'd yearned for her paints, her canvas, wanting to capture the sights.

And that's exactly what she'd planned to do at the hotel. Paint.

But the moment she'd stepped inside her room, a man - a large, scarred man with dark hair and oddly colored eyes - had accosted her. He'd smelled of flowers, she remembered, the scent somehow comforting her even in the midst of the greatest panic attack of her life. The winged man had been there, too, only his wings had been hidden underneath a T-shirt.

How easily they'd subdued her. Shame still filled her at the thought. Four women against two men, and still the women had lost, too caught-off-guard to put up much of a fight. They'd been knocked out and carted here, awakening in this very room.

"Maybe we should try to seduce a key from one of them," Caitlin whispered to her.

The olive-skinned, black-eyed warrior immediately pushed his way into Perrie's thoughts. Every time she'd seen him, he'd been bleeding. Clumsy? He hadn't seemed so, but... Perhaps she should have offered to "doctor" his wounds. Maybe he would have been nicer to her. Maybe he would have helped her when she'd asked.

Maybe he would have kissed her.

The thought alone excited her, damn it. "No woman should have to barter her body to escape a prison," she said, angry at herself. The image of Zayn swam before her eyes again, and she found herself adding, "But I'll think about it."

**Author's Note:**

> All content belongs to Gena Showalter.


End file.
